


parts of you, forgotten

by buddhaghost



Series: hey, brother [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (bad) D&D references, Alternate Universe, BAMF Eleven | Jane Hopper, Billy Hargrove Lives, Jonathan is a little amused, More characters to come, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has Powers, Stiles is Not Amused, and after season 3 (Stranger Things), ignores (most) canon deaths, takes place after season 3B (Teen Wolf), the Upside Down in Beacon Hills
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:01:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24825742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddhaghost/pseuds/buddhaghost
Summary: Jonathan Byers is new at Beacon Hills. Stiles is convinced he's being watched. And then he meets Jonathan's 'little sister', the one who called Stiles her brother, and everything simultaneously makes sense, as well as gets much more complicated.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Eleven | Jane Hopper & Stiles Stilinski, Jonathan Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler
Series: hey, brother [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795693
Comments: 54
Kudos: 192





	1. the reunion

**Author's Note:**

> so in my head, the events of Stranger Things season 3 still took place, but in modern times. The Byers have moved from Hawkins to Beacon Hills, which is convenient for pretty much no one except El.
> 
> also, you may want to read my other fic 'i will find you', which is pretty much what started this whole idea.

There’s a new student at Beacon Hills High.

In Stiles’ past experiences, that normally means that a new supernatural threat is imminent. Allison Argent, Ethan and Aiden, Kira Yukimura – all had brought their own brand of crazy to the some-what steady path that had been Stiles’ life. Allison has been here since the beginning, so Stiles is fonder towards her, but with her came hunters, which really sucked. Ethan and Aiden were just the worst, period. Kira’s arrival had set off the chain of events that ended up with Stiles being possessed by a centuries-old demon, so, yeah, screw him, he’s a little ambivalent towards new students.

But Jonathan Byers, for all intents and purposes, seems… ordinary. With his soft mid-western accent, faded clothes, and bags that rival Stiles’ on a good day, he doesn’t really pose as a threatening figure.

But, but, but. Stiles is nothing if not paranoid – he can’t afford not to be, not anymore. Not after all that’s happened, after he met that young girl who somehow seemed to have _branded_ him with her mind. The thrumming that he experienced that night, the crackling beneath his skin that appeared with the tattoo has also remained, making Stiles more restless than usual. So yeah, he’s on edge. And Jonathan, though he gives off the air of keeping to himself, clinging to the illusion that he’s as invisible as he must’ve been at whatever school he’d come from, is starting to get just a bit too close for comfort.

He’s not obvious about it. There’s no peeping through windows or following him home after school. But Stiles has slowly realized that whenever he turns around, Jonathan seems to always be there, glancing away just before they make eye contact. And he doesn’t talk to Stiles. Doesn’t talk to anyone, really. But something about him prickles at Stiles’ nerves. There’s more to the other boy, he’s sure of it.

“There’s something off about the new kid,” Stiles announces. School just got out for the day and the weather’s nice, so they’re sitting outside, crowded around a picnic table. Stiles is thankful that it’s not too hot to have to explain why he’s wearing long sleeves, why he’s _been_ wearing long sleeves since that night, four weeks ago. Because no, he hasn’t told any of his friends about the girl, about the tattoo that wasn’t there but now, inexplicably, is.

“You mean Jonathan Byers?” Isaac asks, voice bored as he sticks his spoon into a yogurt and pulls it out again, repetitive.

Right. Jonathan and Isaac are lab partners in chem.

“No shit, thank you, Isaac, how many other new students do you see lurking around these days?” Stiles retorts.

“He doesn’t _lurk_ ,” Scott says, barely looking up from an assignment that was most definitely due earlier today.

“He could really use some help,” Lydia says, off-handed. She points to a problem on Scott’s sheet, taps it twice. “Try that one again.” Then she looks around the table, shrugging. “What? Jonathan Byers’ wardrobe is one of the worst offenders in this school. It honestly feels personal at this point.”

Stiles gapes. “So not the point! What I’m trying to say is he’s creepy. I don’t like it.”

“You think everyone is creepy,” Lydia points out.

“So no one agrees with me?” Stiles asks.

Isaac shrugs and jabs his yogurt spoon in the direction of something over Stiles’ shoulder. “Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

Stiles whirls around, eyes landing on Jonathan himself, sitting a little ways away, cross-legged and leaning against a tree. He has headphones in, isn’t even glancing in their direction, but the hair on the back of Stiles’ neck still rises. He feels like he’s being watched.

“Come on,” Allison says, finally deciding to throw her two cents in. “Jonathan Byers is the opposite of creepy. He’s just a lonely new kid. I mean, you’ve seen his little siblings, right? They adore him.”

“Siblings?” The thought of Jonathan Byers actually having a life outside of lurking around Stiles is surprising for some reason.

Allison nods. “Yeah, I’ve seen him a few times with his brother and sister. Think they go to the middle school, but they sometimes come here after.”

Interesting. Stiles drops it for now, lets the conversation slowly twist away from Jonathan Byers. Lydia dominates the discussion with planning a party at her lake house – says they deserve it, don’t they, for everything they’ve been through in the past few months alone – and Stiles laughs and rolls his eyes and groans at all the right moments, letting his mind slip away from the thoughts he’s been entertaining for the past few weeks. Who was the girl, why did she call him brother? What is she? What is _he_?

Later, walking to his Jeep alone – Scott and Allison have plans, Lydia’s busy with some proposal she’s been writing, Isaac is just fucking annoying – he stops dead suddenly, in the middle of the empty parking lot. Because standing at the other end, about to climb into a dilapidated-looking excuse for a car, is Jonathan Byers. And next to him, staring directly at Stiles, is the girl from his dream.

There’s someone else with them, a boy, but Stiles only has eyes for the girl, watches as she turns, says something. Jonathan looks up suddenly at Stiles, and they make eye contact, before Jonathan looks back at the girl. Her gaze is just as intense as it was when they first met, and the buzzing beneath Stiles’ skin intensifies as their eyes lock. He grabs his wrist instinctively, hand clamping over the tattoo.

Jonathan lifts his hand, an aborted half-wave, and starts to say something. Stiles can’t hear him over the rushing in his ears, over the _nopenopenopenope_ playing on repeat in his head. Because Fuck This. The girl starts to move forwards, walking just as purposefully as she did in the darkness, but this time, Stiles turns away.

“Fuck this,” he says out loud, heart in his throat and breath already coming in short pants. His hands shake as he fumbles with his keys, with the door, but he manages to get it open and throws himself inside. He can feel his pulse jack-rabbiting, his heart in his throat, his vision going spotty, and knows, intuitively, that this is a panic attack. But it feels different, unfamiliar. He’s had panic attacks before, knows how to breath through them, but this is overwhelming. Like every one of his nerves is bubbling.

_I’ll find you_ , the girl had said. And it looks like she has. How long has she been here, in Beacon Hills? Watching him. Realization dawns cold on Stiles, that he was right, Jonathan must’ve _known_ , had been keeping an eye on him. Now gasping, Stiles pushes his head down and grabs onto the steering wheel, closing his eyes and willing his heart to slow down, desperate to catch his breath. But the bubbling and thrumming intensifies further, electricity signing in his veins as he feels himself be consumed completely.

And then, the pressure in his head suddenly becomes unimaginable. Like he’s swam down too far, too fast. His ears are going to explode, he’s positive, this is the end –

Suddenly, the engine roars to life, even though Stiles hasn’t even put the key in ignition. Every light on the dashboard blazes to life at once. The radio blasts at a deafening level, the air conditioning starts full force, warnings flash across the dashboard at a rapid pace. And just as suddenly, everything stops. The pressure in Stiles’ head releases, the buzzing recedes. His hands are still clenched on the steering wheel, knuckles white, and the Jeep is dead beneath him.

“What the fuck,” Stiles says out loud. Jams the key into ignition. Twists. The engine doesn’t even splutter, doesn’t even _try_. “Oh, come on, don’t do this to me now!” he pleads.

There’s a knock on the passenger side window. Stiles looks over, heart dropping when he sees Jonathan Byer’s face peering back at him. The girl is standing just behind him, her brows pushed together slightly, like Stiles is confusing her. That’s okay. He’s confusing himself, too.

Jonathan seems to be waiting for Stiles to put the window down, so, exasperated, Stiles leans across the divide and cranks the window down a few inches.

“Need a ride?” Jonathan asks. He sounds slightly amused, which, _rude_ , because Stiles is pretty sure he just had a panic attack so intense that he killed his Jeep’s battery. His Jeep, which has literally been through so much, dead because Stiles can’t keep himself together.

But that doesn’t mean he’s about to jump into a stalker’s car. “Nah, nah, don’t worry about me,” Stiles says, flapping his hand at Jonathan. “Just going to call myself a tow. Have a nice day.” He turns away, already pulling his phone out.

Only to have it fly out of his hands, through the cracked window, into the girl’s hand. She catches it easily, as if the thing had been drawn to her, like a fucking wizard. Stiles gapes, no words coming, as she regards his phone with minimal interest, before shoving it into her back pocket. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Jonathan smack a palm to his face.

“What the fuck,” Stiles says for what feels like the eighth time. The girl steps forwards, and the window rolls itself all the way down, the crank moving on its own. She leans in, casual. Like everything that is happening is completely normal. “You remember me,” she says, and it’s not a question. Stiles can only nod. The girl nods back. “But nothing else,” she continues.

“What else is there to remember?” Stiles splutters.

The girl stands back from the window. “Take the ride,” she says, and damn, Stiles is pretty sure no eighth-grader, wizard or not, has the right to sound so suave, so sure that Stiles will do exactly as she says. “I’ll help you remember.”

Stiles glances from her to Jonathan, who shrugs, as if to say _she’ll get what she wants, one way or another_. He considers the tattoo on his wrist, the matching one on hers. The dark dreamscape that they met in, and all the questions he’s had since. The buzzing beneath his skin, that has now become a part of him, same as the tattoo.

Stiles takes the ride.


	2. the ride

“Your nose is bleeding.”

Stiles is sitting shotgun in Jonathan’s banged-up car. Jonathan is driving, relaxed, one elbow propped on the window. The girl, whose name is El, Stiles learns, is leaning forwards from the middle of the backseat, and the boy, Will, Jonathan’s brother, is staring at Stiles through the side mirror. Stiles has half a mind to push it to a different angle so that he doesn’t have to keep accidentally catching the kid’s oddly wide eyes, because, _creepy_. Takes after his older brother.

“It happens to me, too,” El says as Stiles reluctantly brings a hand to his nose and finds that he is indeed bleeding. “When I use my powers.”

“Great,” Stiles says sarcastically. “So, being a wizard comes with a mortal cost, now? Pay the price to use the powers?”

El wrinkles her nose, looks confused, but little Byers leans forward, growing animated. “Actually, you’re not a wizard. You’re more like a sorcerer, meaning your power isn’t, like, a list of spells to choose from, it’s _inside_ you, and up to you to wield and control it! I mean, just think –”

“Will.” Jonathan makes a slashing motion across his throat. Will sinks back, looking slightly chagrined.

“Sorry,” he says to Stiles. “Not everyone likes D&D analogies.”

“Stiles probably doesn’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Jonathan says.

Actually, Stiles does. He’s been a part of an online gaming community for years, not that anyone in this car needs to know that. “I hear you,” he says. “Like, I understand the words coming out of your mouth. And I understand the difference between a wizard and a sorcerer, thank you very much. What I don’t understand, you see, is the fact that _you keep talking like I have powers_.” Then, because he’s heated and why the hell not, he rips his sleeve back and juts his wrist into El’s face. “And for the love of God, can you please explain to me _how_ you managed to give me this in a _dream_?”

Both Jonathan and Will’s eyes widen at the sight of the **003** tattooed on Stiles’ wrist. “Cool,” Will whispers, almost in awe. Jonathan just glances at it before looking away, his features growing serious, lips pulled flat.

El gently pushes Stiles’ arm so it’s no longer inches from her face. “I didn’t give you that,” she says. “Papa did. At the lab.”

“Oh, great,” Stiles throws his hands into the air. “The lab? Papa? You know what, pull over right here. I’m getting out.” He’s half-ready to just hurl himself out of the moving car at this point, because this train has blown past ‘explanation station’ and is rocketing towards the cliffs of ‘absolute insanity’.

Suddenly, El’s wrist is shoved into _his_ face. How the tables have turned. Stiles finds himself staring at the **011** , but El taps impatiently at something just above it. A mark, discoloration in her skin, encircling her whole arm. It looks like a scar of some sort.

“I didn’t give you your number,” El says, voice serious. “But _you_ gave me this. When you grabbed me, in the dream space.”

Stiles looks closer, feels the thrumming under his skin intensify. The rushing in his ears grows louder. “ _I_ did that? Is that even possible?”

El doesn’t answer, draws her arm away, but the look on her face says enough. That no, it probably shouldn’t be.

“When I found you,” El speaks slowly, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “There was a… block. In your mind. Something keeping you from seeing, from being you. When I pushed it…”

The all-consuming panic that Stiles had experienced that night, the pain that had overwhelmed him after El showed him his tattoo, comes flashing back. He shakes his head minutely, as if to clear it.

“So, you’re, what, going to try and push it _more_? How is that a good idea? I felt like –” Like I was going to die, Stiles wants to say, but cuts himself off.

For some reason, Jonathan seems to think he has something relevant to say. “I mean, not to call you out, but we kind of just watched you kill your car during an episode of some sort. It’s probably in your best interest to see what else is being hidden by that block, so you don’t do something like that again. And if anyone can remove it, it’s El.”

Stiles has _so many_ questions. But instead of asking any, he whirls on Jonathan. “Well, not to call _you_ out, but do you really think I didn’t notice all of your creeping around? Like, every time I turned around, you were lurking just a few feet away. If you’re going to try and stalk someone, I beg of you, next time put a _little_ more effort into being conspicuous!”

Jonathan turns slightly red, but says defensively, “I was being conspicuous! It’s not my fault you look over your shoulder every five seconds.”

Ah, and there it is. The obvious gap in knowledge between Stiles and these three Midwesterners. Because while the girl, El, may have superpowers, and seems to think that Stiles does too, which honestly, he’s seriously considering at this point, it’s clear that she’s not exactly a supernatural creature. And that of everyone in this car, only Stiles is aware of the existence of werewolves, banshees, kanimas, kitsunes, and all the other things Stiles has had to deal with since Scott was bitten. It’s clear that they tracked Stiles down for a reason, but the fact that it is completely unrelated to the supernatural beings in Beacon Hills is honestly both a relief, and a terrifying thought. Because if there was more outside of Beacon Hills, more things to deal with… labs and papas and all that jazz…

Stiles can already feel his breath growing shorter, his heart rate jacking up. The thrumming beneath his skin becomes more of an angry buzzing. Stiles closes his eyes, begs himself to calm down.

There’s a slight pressure on his shoulder. He turns around and makes eye contact with El, who looks like she’s trying to be comforting. Oddly enough, her dark eyes, serious face, hand on his shoulder, all help Stiles pull himself together. “I know this is scary,” she says, and Stiles is struck by the emotion in her voice, the depth to her words. “You feel… out of control. That’s okay. I can help you control it.”

Stiles has to turn away, El’s words striking as more than just an attempt at comfort. Since he was possessed by the nogitsune, had his mind twisted and scrambled by the centuries-old entity, he’s been trying to regain balance, normalcy. _Control_. He clenches his fingers on his knees, almost unconsciously.

As much as he wants answers, wants to know _why_ he feels this thrumming beneath his skin almost constantly now, wants to know _how_ and _when_ he got this tattoo, _why_ was it invisible until now, he just doesn’t think he can trust this girl with whatever she says she’s going to do. Having someone else in his mind, doing something he doesn’t yet fully understand… no.

After a moment, Stiles realizes that the car has stopped moving. They’re pulled over in front of a house; nondescript, casual, could probably use some help with the exterior but hey, Stiles isn’t one to judge. Jonathan is looking at him expectantly, as are El and Will from the back.

“Well?” Jonathan says, breaking the silence.

Stiles looks at him, then at El, then finally down at his hands. At the tattoo. The **003** seems stronger than ever, black like Scott’s veins when he takes someone’s pain. Like the darkness that Stiles had first met El in.

“I think we have a lot to talk about,” Stiles says finally. “And I think I know someone who can help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the amount of d&d research I did for one sentence from will... embarrassing. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who left a kudo or a comment!! you all are the best and I appreciate each and every one of you who reads this:)


	3. an explanation of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 6/26/20; I have added mention of Kali! She does exist in this universe. As I was writing about her in though I realized that I don't even think Jonathan and Will knew about her in the show... but just going to assume that El told em about her in their long cross-country road trip from Hawkins to Beacon Hills:)

The inside of the Byers household is as plain as the outside. Stiles isn’t sure what he was expecting; perhaps a magical wizard clock, like the Weasleys in Harry Potter, or at least an above-average amount of domestic animals lazing about. Instead, he’s confronted with an oddly simple, homey set-up. It kind of reminds him of Scott’s house.

Stiles is examining a framed photo on the mantle while he waits for Lydia to pick up her phone. The picture is of a man, gruff looking, with a full mustache, smirking with a grinning woman tucked into his side. The woman looks like Jonathan – it must be his mother. The man is wearing a sheriff’s outfit, and looks honestly nothing like either of the Byers or El, and Stiles can’t help but wonder what the story is there.

He doesn’t get to ponder too much, because Lydia’s voice is suddenly on the other line. “Stiles, _why_ are you calling me? I told you not to bother me until _after_ eight, I’m trying to finish this –”

“Shut up for one second and listen to me,” Stiles snaps hurriedly. Lydia makes an affronted noise but falls silent.

“This better be good,” she mutters after a moment. Stiles closes his eyes and exhales deeply.

“Trust me, you have no idea,” he says. And taking a deep breath, he starts talking.

Lydia stays silent through the whole explanation of the creepy dark dreamscape, through Stiles’ description of his tattoo, of El’s powers, of what he did to his Jeep. But when he mentions he’s at Jonathan Byers house, she makes a noise of incredulity.

“So you’re telling me,” she says in that voice that Stiles hates because it normally means she’s about to verbally destroy him, “that Jonathan Byers, the new kid who you thought was stalking you, turns out to be adoptive brothers with the girl you met in a dream, and actually _was_ stalking you. And you _got into his_ _car and went to his house_?”

Stiles pauses. “Okay, well, when you put it like that, clearly some better choices could’ve been made. But look, yes, okay? The girl used her fucking wizard mind-powers and jedi-ed my phone right out of my hands, so I basically had no choice, and I only just got it back, so please will you just help me out here?”

Lydia sighs. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just use ‘jedi’ as a verb. Anyways, you say this girl… sensed a block in your mind? And… pushed it, and you’ve been feeling… buzzy…. since then?”

Stiles is going to wear grooves into the Byers' rug from the amount of pacing he’s doing. “Yes! Is it really that hard to understand?”

“Stiles, you’re telling me that a tattoo you’ve never had suddenly appears, and a girl with super powers, who you met in a dream, shows up in Beacon Hills. Forgive me for trying to look at this from every angle.” Her tone is sharp. Stiles wants to cry from frustration.

“Lydia, I swear to god, you are the smartest person I know. And, I don’t know, maybe your banshee-ness could, like, help a brother out in this, or something!” Stiles hopes he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. His skin is growing hot, the thrumming becoming more intense. He inhales and exhales slowly, through clenched teeth, trying to calm down.

“Tell you what, why don’t I just come to Byers’,” Lydia suggests primly, oblivious to Stiles’ rising panic. “Text me the address. Hang on, I’m getting a call from Allison – see you soon.” She hangs up.

Stiles gapes at his phone for a moment, intense frustration suddenly flashing through him. He feels a pressure behind his eyes, and groans, squeezing his phone in his hand involuntarily.

There’s a sudden, sharp jolt, the smell of ozone. Stiles looks down in shock at his phone, which is now dead, and appears to be smoking slightly.

“Shit!” He exclaims, tossing the thing away from him. It lands on the faded green couch, screen blank. Stiles stares for a moment longer before running both hands fiercely over his face. “Okay, Stiles, okay, Stiles, if this is a dream then you _better fucking wake up right now I swear to god –”_

“You’re not dreaming.”

Stiles whirls around. El is standing in the doorway, gazing at him intensely, which honestly seems to be the norm for her.

“Um, okay,” Stiles says. El steps further into the room, eventually settling on the couch next to Stiles’ dead phone. She stares at him until he reluctantly sits down with her.

“Um, nice place you got,” he says, just to break the silence more than anything. El’s face doesn’t even twitch.

“I need you to understand,” El says seriously. “Can I show you something?”

“What, like a movie? As long as it’s PG-13 or under, I’m an impressionable young boy,” Stiles says, knowing full well that he’s rambling but unable to do anything to stop himself.

“No,” El says. “I need you to understand _me_. Then, you can start to understand you.” After a moment, Stiles nods.

El closes her eyes, takes her hand and places it on Stiles’ temple. Stiles watches her for a moment before closing his eyes as well.

Almost immediately, he is confronted with a flashing series of images, things that he doesn’t understand. They go almost too fast to focus on, but accompanying them are a whirlwind of emotion; desperation, fear, loneliness, rage, terror. A Coca-Cola can on a table, crumpled. Men in lab coats opening a door, coming forwards with arms out and blank faces. Being submersed in a tank filled with water. Hearing a voice far away, playing it back on loudspeakers. Doctors nodding, scratching down results. The darkness, all-consuming, always there.

Then, a shift. Safety, amusement, confusion, hesitance, friendship. A boy with dark hair smiles. Walkie-talkies crackling. Eggo waffles smothered in syrup. The man Stiles had seen on the mantle, smiling, dancing, yelling, digging, fighting. The woman who had been with him, screaming for Will, cradling a bunch of Christmas lights, watery smiles. A boy with a baseball bat full of nails, a girl with a gun, Jonathan Byers with a lighter and a bear trap.

It shifts again. Numb, cold, fear. A creature Stiles has never seen before, standing on two legs, like a man, but with a face like a flower, petals peeling back to reveal rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth. Flesh-like holes in the walls, things coming and going out of them. More creatures like the first, but smaller, like dogs. A shadow, lurking over everyone and everything. A rip in reality, underground and bigger than anything Stiles has ever encountered, sewing itself back together, tendril by tendril. Screaming, pain, exhaustion, but relief when it is done.

But it’s not done. The Flayed, and the Mind Flayer, though Stiles doesn’t understand what those are. Fireworks. A sacrifice. More faces, smiling, peering, crying, bruised. People melting, becoming one. And then – devastation. A loss so terrible Stiles feels a sob pulling itself from his gut, even though he doesn’t even know who he’s mourning.

Then… hope. He sees himself, looking around in that dreamscape. He sees a girl, dark hair teased and kohl outlining her eyes, a vibrant butterfly dancing in her hands. Feels the sensation of _sister,_ of _not alone._ He sees her wrist, **008**. His wrist, El's number. **003** and **011**. Siblings. Powerful.

It’s too much. Stiles feels overloaded. His own emotions are too strong sometimes, and with El’s on top of that, he feels like he’s going to explode. Everything is moving too fast, tinged with underlying sense of family, of belonging, and Stiles _can’t_ because he _already has a family_ , he _already belongs._ He’s spiraling under the strain of El’s mind, and he suddenly feels cold all over, all the blood rushing out of his head, making him feel faint. The pressure behind his eyes, in his ears, returns, and in one moment and the next, there’s a loud pop and El goes from sitting right next to him to poised on the other side of the couch, clutching her hand and staring at Stiles with wide eyes.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, before Jonathan comes running through the door, apparently drawn by the commotion. “El! What happened? Are you alright?”

El is bleeding from her nose. Stiles is pretty sure that he is, too. Slowly, El regards her hand. The fingertips that she had placed on Stiles’ head are now bright red, like she had gotten sunburned. Or…

“Oh, my god,” Stiles said. He’s sweating, shaking, shivering. Mind still looping with images from El, particularly the creatures. The shadows. The girl with **008** , her dark gaze searing. The _lab_. Seeing it, through El’s eyes, makes his brain itch, like trying to remember a dream. “What was that? Who --”

“What did you show him?” Jonathan asked. Will appears, moving silently to El’s side with an icepack in his hand. She takes it and presses her fingers to it, eyelids fluttering softly.

“I saw – you,” Stiles stammers out, still feeling like he’s going to buzz out of his skin. “With a bear trap. And two other people, some chick and a dude with a bat.” Then he turns to Will. “And I saw you – hiding? Missing? Spying?” It really wasn’t clear, trying to sift through all the thoughts and images and emotions El had dumped on him.

Will shrugs, smiles half-heartedly. “All of the above, really.”

Stiles still feels like his heart is pounding a mile a minute, but less like he’s going to accidentally hurt someone. “What was all of that? What were those _things_?”

Jonathan glances at El before talking. “Well, those things kind of invaded our old town.”

“We call them demogorgons.” Will interjects.

“Anyways, it was a bit of a mess – my brother got taken at the same time El escaped the lab, we thought the demogorgon was destroyed, but it turns out there was a _gate_ that was letting the Upside Down into our world, and –”

“Hang on,” Stiles holds up a hand. “The Upside Down?”

“Kind of like an alternate dimension.” Will says casually. “Like this world, but dark. Poisonous. Nothing can survive there.”

“And the things that could wanted _our_ world,” Jonathan adds.

Stiles tries to process all of this. He really, really does. But one thing he can’t figure out – “So what does this have to do with me? Sounds like a you problem.”

El leans forward. “I closed the gate,” she says, sounding more animated than Stiles has ever heard her. “But part of it stayed outside, stayed here. It… corrupted people. Used them. And then Hop…” her voice breaks for a moment, and she looks down, takes a moment, before looking up again. Steeling herself, she continues. “I was the one that opened the gate. I let them in, all because of papa and the lab. I thought I was alone. I found our sister, Kali. Eight. But she was... angry. She has a different fight. But now I've found you.”

Stiles glances at Jonathan, at Will, and finally back at El. He wants to say, _what makes you think I don't have a different fight?_ He wants to tell her she's crazy, that maybe they both would be better off in the Eichen House. But as he gazes at their faces, open and worried and tired and etched with pain, it seems these three have been to hell and back. He almost feels kind of bad that they chose Beacon Hills to settle in, because though there may not be an alternate dimension trying to take over, there was certainly a grocery-list of other issues.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “I believe you. But if we’re going to try and remove this ‘block’, or whatever you call it, we’re doing it _my_ way.”

“Do you know someone who can remove psychic blocks?” Jonathan asks incredulously.

“I can’t say for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stiles says, standing up. “Can I borrow your phone? I need to call the veterinarians office.”

Jonathan, El and Will all exchange worried glances, probably thinking that Stiles has lost it. That’s okay. They’ve showed him their side, now it’s time to show them his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao el pretty much just forced stiles to watch all three seasons of stranger things in a matter of seconds... 
> 
> not sure about an update schedule -- trying to post each chapter only after I've written the one that comes next, so updates may take a little longer from here on out.
> 
> thank you to everyone who has read this!!! you are all amazing:)


	4. an interlude: allison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i love allison... so she's not dead

Allison had been through a lot since moving to Beacon Hills.

Finding out her family was an infamous group of hunters, that they’d been targeting her boyfriend, who was a werewolf. Watching a crazed alpha kill her aunt, who, admittedly, might’ve deserved it. Dealing, on multiple occasions, with classmates who proved to be more than human. And, most recently, she survived what should have been a killing blow from a samurai spirit.

But Allison prides herself on being level-headed, at being able to prioritize. During her training as a hunter, she was taught to improvise, adapt, overcome. For some, that means learning from mistakes, improving weaknesses, admitting defeat. For Allison, it means letting go of the past.

But of course, the past makes a great teacher. Time and time again, it has been revealed that seemingly random classmates, or the most innocent, unassuming of individuals, are actually a supernatural being, their presence turning Beacon Hills into a game of chess, a constant struggle between good and evil, life and death. So, Allison thinks to herself, as calmly and rationally as possible, all she has to do right now is think of the past. Look for a pattern, an event that has repeated itself, or the opposite; for something that seemed noteworthy, remarkable. Something, anything that could give insight into what she just hit with her car.

Scott is in the passenger seat, trying to reach Stiles. “Pick up, pick up,” he’s muttering, as if that will somehow magically cue to Stiles that they need him, _now_. Allison’s hands are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, knuckles turning almost white, as she stares resolutely ahead, thinking.

They’d been driving, the road adjacent to the Beacon Hills Forest Preserve. Casual, like they hadn’t just snuck away from anyone and everything to have some time alone. Allison had been laughing at something Scott said, and then –

The thing had just darted in front of the car. It moved on all fours, and Allison had slammed on the brakes instinctively, violently remembering the time she’d hit a dog. But she’d been too late; the car had shuddered on impact, a dull _thud_ indicating that they’d hit it.

Shocked, terrified, she could barely get out of the car. Scott had leapt out instead, racing around to the front, where he stopped short, staring for a moment at the creature, before looking up at meeting Allison’s eyes through the windshield.

Then she’d gotten out, and they stared at it together. At the distinctly mammal-like shape, familiar, like a muscled, sinewy street dog. At the fleshy skin, looking pallid and slimy and strangely reptilian. At the head, which was just a mouth, petal-like flaps draped open slightly to reveal rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth.

Scott had quickly shucked off his jacket, wrapped it around the thing. Placed it in the trunk. And now here they are, plus one unfamiliar creature, trying to figure out the next move.

“Should we call your dad?” Scott offers, half-heartedly. Allison considers, but ultimately shakes her head. After the too-close call with the nogitsune, he wasn’t the biggest fan of Allison being around anything and everything supernatural, and probably would _not_ be thrilled to hear about a new creature in Beacon Hills.

“Have you been able to reach Stiles?” Allison asks, because honestly, it doesn’t feel right that he isn’t here.

“Maybe his phone’s dead.”

Almost immediately after Scott had said that, Allison’s phone blares to life. She glances at the screen. “It’s Lydia.”

Quickly, she answers and puts it on speaker. Before she can even say a greeting, Lydia starts talking.

“Something’s happening. Meet at Deaton’s in twenty. Bring the… whatever you hit.”

Allison and Scott share a bewildered look. “What are you talking about? How do you know –”

“Don’t ask,” Lydia snaps, then sighs. “Just be there.”

Scott mouths _banshee senses._ Allison nods in agreement.

“Okay, we’ll head there now.”

“Great.” Lydia hangs up.

Allison exhales slowly, wraps her fingers around the steering wheel. Counts to ten. It’s been just a few short weeks since they dealt with the nogitsune, but things already start to be heating up again. She’d been hoping for at least a month with no supernatural crisis, but they’ve never been that lucky now, have they.

Sighing, she shifts the car into drive. Scott’s hand lands on top of hers, squeezing briefly, and she smiles tightly at him. But as they pull away, she’s sure they’re both thinking the same thing;

What the fuck is in their trunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clarification: in the previous chapter, when lydia hangs up on stiles because 'she's getting a call from allison' -- she actually is the one to call allison. her banshee senses acted up... idk 
> 
> thank you again to everyone who has read, kudo'd and commented!!:')


	5. more questions remain

If Deaton is surprised to see Stiles arrive with El, Jonathan, and Will, rather than his usual crew, he doesn’t show it. Just unlocks the door with his usual grace, ushers them in with a tight smile.

El, Jonathan, and Will, on the other hand, remain openly confused as to why Stiles has brought them here. None of them say anything, but El is looking around warily, and Jonathan and Will keep exchanging incredulous looks with each other.

Honestly, that’s fine. Soon enough, they’ll get the answers they need.

Deaton settles by the operating table in the middle of the clinic, leaning against it casually. “Stiles. I see you brought some knew friends?” The lilt in his voice is light, but Stiles can pretty much read between the lines, can hear the unasked question of _is this another problem that must be dealt with_?

“Yes,” Stiles says, turning back to face the other three. “Deaton, this is El, Jonathan, and Will.” Jonathan and Will wave. El gives Deaton an incredibly obvious once-over before turning back to examine the many vials of interesting powders Deaton has on display.

“A pleasure,” Deaton says, though his eyes never leave Stiles. “So, how can I help you?”

And now, Stiles finds himself wondering how to explain. He’d been brief with Deaton on the phone, saying pretty much that he needed some help and would be over shortly. Now that he was here, with three strangers in tow, he wasn’t exactly sure how to explain his situation.

Before he even has the chance, though, El steps forwards. “Stiles,” and wow does his name sound weird in her stilted tone, almost like she’s not sure she’s saying it correctly, “is my brother. We share a common history, but he does not remember.” She walks forwards, boldly presenting her arm to Deaton, who looks confused until his eyes land on the **011** tattooed there. “He claims you can help him.”

Deaton doesn’t say anything for a moment, staring at El’s wrist. His expression, Stiles realizes, has changed from confusion to resignation.

“Hold on,” Stiles says. “You know what she’s talking about?”

Deaton looks up, mildly alarmed. “Oh, no, I can assure you that I do not,” he says as El draws her wrist back, steps away. “But I can take a guess.” He steps towards Stiles, gestures to his wrist. “May I?”

Stiles holds his wrist out, not quite sure how Deaton 'took a guess' that he has a tattoo as well. Deaton gently takes it, regards the **003** with unreadable eyes. The silence is getting to be unbearable, so Stiles starts talking. “Well, if you can take a guess as to how I lived my whole life without noticing that I have a _whole ass tattoo_ on my wrist, that would be pretty helpful. Or why I have a ‘block’ in my mind that’s kept me from remembering some _pretty key details_ of my life, and – oh yeah! Why I suddenly seem to be able to make things _explode_!” By the end of his rant, the buzzing is singing beneath his skin, and he’s starting to feel prickly all over. He pulls his arm from Deaton’s hands before anything can happen.

“You’ve been making things… explode?” Deaton asks, evenly as ever.

Stiles nods, head bobbing erratically. “Oh, yeah. Killed my Jeep’s battery, my phone, gave _this one_ some nice electrical burns –” he gestures at El, who nods.

Jonathan steps forwards, trying to butt in to conversations where Stiles is pretty sure he has no place, as usual. “Back in Hawkins, Indiana, where we came from, there’s a lab. It’s been shut down, but we know that they used to experiment on people.” Deaton accepts this with a blink. “That’s where El came from. She escaped. We thought she was the only one. But then she found another girl, Kali, and now Stiles. And, um,” now Jonathan starts to trail off, looking uncomfortable as he glances between El and Stiles. “El has powers, so it’s not unlikely that Stiles does, too.”

Well, there it is. Stiles feels like this whole time he’s been dancing around acknowledging the fact that since he’d met El, he’s felt different. The buzzing, humming, that courses through his body, sings in his veins, had never been present before, nor has he ever accidentally managed to kill his car or his phone without even doing anything, though both those things happened _in one day_ since he met El in person. Honestly, it’s not unlikely to think that something’s changed. That he does have powers.

The thought immediately sends a strike of panic through him, so Stiles quickly chooses to ignore it. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Deaton just nods sagely. Stiles wonder what, if anything, would make this guy lose his cool. “So,” he just says in his unfailingly calm voice, “how exactly do you suppose I can help?”

Hm. Stiles was kind of hoping that Deaton would magically know what was going on and procure some sort of answer, some herb or potion that Stiles could take and feel normal again.

Stiles can feel El’s, Jonathan’s and Will’s eyes on him, also probably wondering what the heck Deaton could do to help.

“Well, see, El says there’s, like, a block in my mind, that’s been keeping memories from me. Memories about, well, the lab, I suppose. And I was thinking that maybe you’d be able to help… remove… that…” Stiles trails off. Hearing himself say it out loud makes it sound honestly ridiculous.

“ _I_ can help,” El said, managing to sound mildly indignant despite her soft voice. “But he wanted you. Says we’re doing it his way.”

Okay, yes, she got him there. Stiles turns back to Deaton, almost pleadingly. “Okay, the situation is this: I don’t know what’s happening to me and these three have some crazy life story that they told me and I don’t know what to believe and before I have someone go muddle around in my mind I just wanted to see if, you know, you had any ideas!”

Deaton taps his finger to his chin, glancing between Stiles and El. “I’m afraid I don’t –”

“Stop,” El says, apparently done with how long this is taking. “Can I show you?”

Deaton looks dubious, but also intrigued. He nods, and Stile watches as both their eyes close and El puts her fingers to Deaton’s head, like she’d done to Stiles back at the Byers’. There’s a long moment of silence, and then Deaton’s eyes shoot open and he pulls back in surprise, looking at El with an expression very close to awe.

“Interesting,” he says, before turning to Stiles. “I think I know how to help.”

Stiles wanted to collapse from relief. “ _Thank_ you,” he says, but Deaton holds up a hand to stop him.

“Removing something from your mind is similar to what an Alpha can do to its Betas.” And oh shit, because El and Jonathan and Will _do not know about werewolves yet_. This is going to be a Fun Conversation. But honestly, Stiles doubts they'll be too hard to convince; El does have psychic powers, and they've apparently fought creatures from a dark dimension a few times. Still, Deaton plows on, oblivious to the fact that three of the five people in this room have no idea what he’s talking about. Stiles hears Will whispering something to Jonathan. “It’s dangerous, finnicky – anything that has to do with the mind is. What I wish is that I could get a sense of this block, what it’s like…”

El steps forwards again, hand already raised, looking at Deaton questioningly. He nods, and she presses her fingers to his temple again. “I’ve seen it,” she explains to the others.

She’s only touching him for about five seconds, but when she’s done, Deaton looks up, inhales sharply before relaxing. He turns to Stiles. “It won’t be easy,” he warns. “But it can be done.”

That’s… “Great!” Stiles says. Claps his hands together, rubs them feverishly. “That’s terrific! Fantastic! Amazing news. Ten out of ten. Let’s get started!”

Suddenly, the bell at the front door chimes aggressively. Stiles can hear voices, people pushing their way into the clinic area.

“Deaton!” It’s Scott. Allison is with him, and behind them comes a very exasperated looking Lydia. “We need some help!”

He stops short when he enters the room, eyes going wide as he takes in El, Jonathan, and Will. Allison scans them as well, eyes narrowed, and Stiles can almost _hear_ the gears working in her head. Lydia just sighs, looking relieved.

“Finally,” she says, but she’s not looking at Stiles; her gaze is directed at El.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Scott asks bluntly, looking from Stiles to the three Midwesterners.

Deaton takes a step forward. “Scott,” he says. “Is there something wrong?”

It’s then that Stiles realizes there’s something in Scott’s arms, wrapped in his jacket. It looks to be the size of a dog, but the limb poking through looks familiar, almost like something from a dream…

Scott glances at Jonathan, El, and Will, then looks at Stiles, eyebrow arched. _Can we trust them?_ Stiles nods.

That’s enough for Scott. He strides forwards and unceremoniously dumps his armful onto the table. It lands with a dull thud, and the jacket rolls open to reveal the creature inside.

Stiles stares at the sinewy muscle, the dewy, decayed-looking flesh. The head-that-isn’t-a-head, petal-like mouth slightly open. It’s the creature from El’s mind, the one she showed him. The creature from Hawkins. From the Upside Down.

“Where the fuck did you find that,” Jonathan breaks the silence, his voice harder than Stiles thought capable for him.

“We hit it,” Allison answers. “By the forest preserve.”

El has stepped forward, looking at it with an unfamiliar expression. If Stiles knew her better, he’d say it was… fear? All the color has drained from Will’s face, and Stiles watches as his arm flings out, grabs his brother’s wrist.

“What is it?” Scott directs the question at Deaton, who is staring at the creature. Wordlessly, he shakes his head.

“It’s a demodog,” El says, voice barely higher than a whisper. Allison and Scott exchange a glance, while Lydia steps forwards, heels clicking as she moves to stand closer to the younger girl.

“Excuse me,” Jonathan says flatly. “I have to make a phone call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's all starting to come together...;) 
> 
> please ignore the fact that I made Scott, Allison and Lydia barge in so I could have more time to plan this 'block removal' process. also the fact that el is now exhibiting professor x level telepathic capabilities.
> 
> as always, thank you to everyone who comments, kudos, or just plain reads this!!!! you are all amazing<3


	6. an interlude; nancy

Nancy is kind of _in the middle of something_ when her phone goes off. That something being keeping the car on the right side of the road while simultaneously fending off her brother’s attempts to make a grab for the aux cord, which, _hell no_. If Nancy was stuck as her brother’s friend’s chauffeur for the moment, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let them control the music.

“No offense, Nancy,” Lucas is saying from where he’s squashed against the car door, dodging Mike’s elbows as he valiantly tries to grab for the cord, “but your music kind of sucks.”

“How does one _not_ take offense to that?” Max, who is sitting shot gun because Nancy actually _likes_ the girl, shoots back, twisting around in her seat to defend Nancy’s music’s honor while Mike and Dustin voice their own opinions, equally loud.

Jesus. Nancy doesn’t know how Steve does this on a daily basis. Or _why_.

“Guys, shush!” Nancy yells over them as her phone starts to ring. Seeing that it’s Jonathan, she rips her phone out of the aux cord and drops it, letting Mike grab it with a sound of victory. “It’s Jonathan, so shut the fuck up!”

Those words work like magic. Not the ‘shut the fuck up’, the ‘it’s Jonathan’. Since the Byers moved away last month, everyone in Hawkins desperately awaited updates from El, Will, Jonathan, and Joyce. Of course, the updates came daily, sometimes more than once a day, because Jonathan and Nancy spoke every day, and Mike and El were almost constantly texting as well.

But still, Jonathan’s name is like magic. Everyone fell silent; Mike even lowers the volume of the song he’d put on without being asked.

Nancy answers, and Jonathan is speaking before she even has the chance to get out a greeting. “Two things,” he says, and the tone of his voice has Nancy immediately sitting up straighter, face growing serious. “Number one: El found him. Three, the boy from the lab, like her.”

Nancy blinks. “Wow,” she says. Before the Byers had moved, El had apparently managed to locate a fellow experiment, someone who’d gotten out of the lab before she’d been there. Nancy didn’t actually know that much; El hadn’t really told anyone anything about the boy she’d found, the boy with a **003** on his wrist, other than that he lived in California. Honestly, Nancy wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what inspired their move to the town of Beacon Hills.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. Laughs a little. “Yeah, it’s this guy named Stiles. Goes to my school here. Bit of an asshole.”

Nancy huffs a laugh, rolling her eyes. “You think everyone’s an ass, Jon,” she says fondly.

“Maybe, but I’m serious about this guy. And the best part is he has absolutely no idea what we’re talking about. Like, thought we were crazy for a bit, until El did some meddling to show him the truth. Apparently, there’s been this like… memory block put in? Somehow kept him from seeing his tattoo, from knowing he had _powers_. Not that he’s really _done_ much except, like, overcharge a few batteries.”

Though Nancy wants to know more about this Stiles, she can still hear an edge in Jonathan’s voice.

“What’s the second thing, Jon?” She presses. Jonathan makes a weird sound, like something between a laugh and a cough. She can just picture him now, probably running a hand through his hair, a slight smile on his face, and her heart aches for a moment, missing him.

“I, like – okay. I have no idea how this is even possible, but, so – shit. Basically, we’re at some vet’s office because Stiles wanted his input about the mind block” – Nancy doesn’t even want to begin to unpack that statement – “and this guy Scott comes in with a _demodog_.”

Nancy’s mind short circuits for a moment. Because there’s no way Jonathan can be telling her what she thinks he’s telling her. “What do you mean? Like, he was walking it?” The image is so bizarre that she wants to laugh, but maybe there’s a chance that he meant a show dog, and is excited about that for some reason, yes, that’s what he meant –

“What? No. He and this other girl hit it with their car. It’s dead, we think, but Nancy. A _demodog_. In _Beacon Hills_.”

Nancy’s ears are ringing. The kids have started talking, probably trying to ask what Jonathan said, but their voices rush over her like water.

Numbly, she puts the phone down, puts on her blinker, and pulls over to the side of the road. Max is looking at her, concern plain on her face, while Mike, Dustin and Lucas clamor in the backseat, talking over each other, demanding to know what Jonathan said, why they’ve stopped driving.

Nancy closes her eyes and rests her head on the steering wheel, taking deep, even breaths. When she opens them, Dustin has her phone, Max is flapping a book in Nancy’s face, and Mike has leaned all the way forwards.

“Nancy!” He’s saying. Yelling. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I think that was a panic attack,” Max states matter-of-factly. Nancy belatedly registers that she’s waving the book in Nancy’s direction to act as a fan of sorts.

“What?” Nancy sits up. “No, it wasn’t. I just…”

In the backseat, Dustin is yelling at Jonathan on the phone. “What did you say to her? She just passed out! You could’ve killed us all!”

“Dustin, stop,” Nancy says, leaning back to grab her phone. Dustin dodges and continues his verbal attacks.

“I swear, my respect for you is about to plummet if you break up with her for some California bimbo!” He yells into the phone. Nancy isn’t sure where Dustin’s fierce protectiveness is coming from, but it’s amusing, and honestly kind of sweet.

“Dustin! He didn’t break up with me,” Nancy says. “He just told me some very… shocking news.”

“Oh god,” Dustin exclaims, somehow rising in volume. “Is he pregnant? Are you pregnant? Is someone pregnant?!”

Everyone starts screaming their opinion on that matter at that point. “No!” Nancy yells over them, scandalized. Finally, she manages to snatch her phone back from Dustin. “I’ll explain in a second, okay?” She brings the phone back up to her ear. “Sorry about that.”

“Nance?” Jonathan sounds panicked, which, okay, fair. Nancy did kind of just put the phone down without responding, and then Jonathan had to listen to Dustin yell at him. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yes, sorry,” Nancy says. “Just… wasn’t expecting that, I guess.”

Jonathan laughs humorlessly. “Believe me, me neither.”

“So, what’s going on? Where did it come from? What do they know?”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Jonathan says, and Nancy can hear the worry in his voice. “It literally just happened. Like, he just came in and slapped the thing down on the table like it was tonight’s dinner. Barely seemed phased.”

Nancy wants to laugh. She also wants to scream. Because they were supposed to be _over this_ , they’d done everything they could to wrench the Upside Down’s fingers out of their world. Nancy had honestly never considered the idea that there could be gates elsewhere, and the realization sends a full-body shudder through her. Because it’s been just over four months since they destroyed the new mall in the battle against the Mind Flayer, since Hopper went missing, since countless people – the Flayed, they’d called them, like they weren’t even ever human –were declared missing or dead. And Nancy still sleeps with a gun in her bedside table, she knows Mike still gets nightmares, knows that Steve keeps his bat in the trunk of his car, just in case. They all still jump at anything that sounds remotely like fireworks.

Basically, Nancy feels like she’s been living life waiting for the other shoe to drop. And now, it seems it has.

She worries her lip between her teeth. The kids have quieted down again, now seeming to be straining to hear what Jonathan has to say now that they’ve determined that nobody is, in fact, pregnant.

Jonathan curses. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I feel like both parties have some explaining to do.”

Nancy nods before remembering he can’t see her. “Call me after,” she says. “When you get some answers.” Please god, let there be answers to this.

“Of course,” Jonathan says. “Tell everyone I say hi. Love you, Nance.”  
  


“Will do,” she says. Swallows. “You, too.”

The line goes dead, and Nancy exhales. The kids let her have about five seconds to collect herself before Mike demands, “Well? What the hell was all of that?”

Nancy steels herself. Puts her blinker on, pulls back onto the road. “Change of plans,” she says, and the kids must sense that something is wrong because they don’t even complain about no longer going to the arcade. “Dustin, can you contact Steve? Tell him to come over after his shift.”

Dustin makes a face, clearly confused, but shoots the other boy a text anyways.

“Well,” Nancy says, starting in the direction of her house. “They’ve found the other guy from the lab. But there’s a slight issue. Because apparently, they also found a demodog.”

The kids are silent for a moment. “Shit,” Lucas says, which honesty just about sums it up.

“Wait, what does that mean?” Max demands. “How did it get all the way there? Is there another gate?”

Nancy shakes her head, shrugging. “I don’t know. Jonathan doesn’t, either. They’ll get in contact when they know more.”

“They can’t face another gate alone,” Mike says, very seriously. Nancy meets his eyes in the review mirror, and they’re almost an exact reflection of her own. Hard, shining with determination. “We’ve got to go there.”

“We’ve got to wait before we do anything,” Nancy says. But internally, she’s thinking the same thing.

There’s no way they’re letting Jonathan, El, Will and Joyce deal with this alone. Even if they do have the boy, Stiles, but he doesn’t sound like much help if he’s just figuring out his past now. And Nancy knows the kids will all feel the same.

Though she knows Jonathan wouldn’t want this, would want her the everyone else to stay in Hawkins, away from the danger, that’s not who she is. Tonight, Nancy decides she’ll look into one-way tickets from Hawkins to Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly had much fun writing this chapter... imagining them in modern times is kind of interesting. also, they honestly probably wouldn't be en route to an arcade in this day and age but i was too brain dead to try and figure out an appropriate equivalent for it other than like laser tag or a bowling alley or something... and decided to just keep it simple for myself.
> 
> worlds are starting to collide !  
> 
> 
> thank you again to everyone who reads this:):) your comments bring me joy<3


	7. worlds collide

If Stiles had known that this was how his day was going to end up, he would’ve stayed in bed. He could’ve easily told his dad he felt sick – since the whole issue with the nogitsune, the sheriff had taken to treading lightly around his son, which could be annoying, but Stiles could’ve used it to his advantage here. He could’ve laid in bed till noon, binged _Scrubs_ until he went cross-eyed, and ate every mildly unhealthy thing in the house.

Instead, here he is, standing in Deaton’s office. Scott and Allison are staring at him openly, obviously confused as to what he’s doing here with Jonathan and two middle schoolers. Jonathan has stepped away to make a phone call, and Stiles can hear the frantic tone of his voice through the thin walls of the clinic. Will has gone to El, and with the intensity that they’re staring at each other it’s as if they’re having a telepathic conversation.

Which, actually, wouldn’t be all that improbable, given El’s apparent superpowers.

Lydia’s the only one who seems unbothered, having settled herself against the back wall, watching Deaton as he prods at the creature on the table.

Stiles can feel a headache starting, a painful pulsing in time with his heartbeat, like something is trying to beat itself out of his head, from the inside. He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales, exhales. The buzzing in his veins is subdued, but there, reminding him of the whole reason they even _came_ to Deaton’s: to remove the block. Which, apparently, was possible, but Scott dropping a bomb in the form of a creature Stiles knows only from El’s memories kind of threw everything off kilter.

“Dude, why didn’t you answer my phone calls?” Scott is saying, eyes sliding from El and Will to the creature. “And what exactly are you… doing here?”

“Well, my phone kind of died,” Stiles says shortly. His head is pounding, making it difficult to focus on what should be addressed first. “As to why I’m here… it’s kind of a long story.”

“Stiles has a block in his mind that is keeping memories from him,” Deaton says, addressing Scott, not even looking up from the demodog. He’s using a little tool to peel back the mouth, examining the needle-like teeth. Stiles shudders at the sight. “He sought me out for advice on removing it, with help from this young lady.” He gestures to El, who nods slightly in affirmation.

Scott looks dumfounded. “What?”

Jonathan chooses that moment to come back in, phone call apparently finished. He makes a beeline for El and Will, the latter of who curls into him slightly, while El steps forwards, putting herself between the creature and the two boys. Like she’s used to putting others behind her, putting herself on the front line of danger.

It’s a move that doesn’t go unnoticed; Stiles sees Allison’s eyes narrow slightly as she takes it in. It seems that she still can’t get over the fact that Jonathan is here, with his two little siblings, no less. But, ever tactful, she doesn’t say anything, though her eyes are still on El when she says, “So, a block in your mind? How do you know? What put it there?”

Scott, however, has turned to Jonathan upon his re-entrance. “Hang on, do you know what this thing is?”

“It’s a demodog,” El says, repeating herself from earlier. Scott and Allison stare. “From the Upside Down.”

“A shadow dimension. Like this one, but darker.” Jonathan adds.

“Nothing can survive there,” Will supplies. “They invaded our old town, but they all died when El closed the gate.” He looks at Jonathan now, almost questioningly. “I haven’t seen one since.”

“Well, the Mind Flayer was a little occupied with other things,” Jonathan says. Stiles can only imagine what is going on in Scott and Allison’s heads. It probably sounds like they’re speaking in code.

Lydia clears her throat from where she’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed neatly over each other. “I think,” she says, in that calm, cool way that means she thinks they’re all idiots and they’re lucky to have her donate one brain cell to their cause, “that there’s a lot of pieces to this story. Pieces that some of us know, and some of us don’t. So, instead of barking questions at each other and running around in general like headless chickens, why don’t we act like competent adults and have a little story time.”

Stiles stares at her for a moment before nodding. “Actually, not a bad idea.”

“Stiles, why don’t you start,” Lydia suggests, apparently taking the role of emcee for this, like they’re in debate club or something.

“Great,” Stiles says. Takes a breath, wills his head to stop pounding, and then starts. Talks about how El came to him first in a dream, then found him here, today, actually. El, Jonathan and Will all take turns stepping in to talk about whatever had happened back in their hometown, with the lab and the Upside Down and what Stiles understands to be the three Major Crisises of Hawkins, Indiana: Will going missing, infestation of demodogs/Will being possessed (which, hey, Stiles hasn’t really heard about that one yet, but relatable)/closing the gate, and then dealing with the Mind Flayer, which was the major evil force from the Upside Down incarnated in human flesh in the real world.

“So, hang on,” Allison says, gestures to the demodog. “How did this get here? Could there be another gate? Is that why you guys came to Beacon Hills?”

Jonathan, El, and Will all share a glance. “I’m not sure,” Jonathan says. “You say you hit it by the woods?”

Scott and Allison nod wordlessly. “I might have you take me there sometime soon,” Jonathan says, and woah, when did he suddenly insert himself in the narrative like that?

“Um, excuse me,” Stiles says loudly. “I think we’re all forgetting something here. Like, the fact that _I apparently have a block in my mind that’s kept me from knowing about magical abilities I somehow possess._ ”

Everyone goes silent. “Yeah, I’m having some trouble processing that one,” Scott says.

Stiles makes a face. “Why? You’re literally a werewolf. Lydia’s a banshee. We’ve fought a darach, I’ve been possessed by a centuries old fox spirit. Are magic powers so hard to comprehend?”

“Um, hang on,” Jonathan starts to say, and whoops, Stiles kind of forgot that isn’t common knowledge.

“You’re a _werewolf_?” Will asks in awe.

“What’s a… darach?” El asks slowly.

Deaton suddenly stands up from where he was bent over the demodog. He turns to Jonathan, El, and Will, with a serious look on his face. “I don’t know what brought you to Beacon Hills, but I think that it’s safe to assume your arrival here was no coincidence. For a long time, this town has acted as a… beacon, if you will, for supernatural creatures.”

Stiles watches Lydia roll her eyes at Deaton’s use of the word ‘beacon’ and has to smother a chuckle.

“But we’re not supernatural creatures,” Jonathan says, enunciating his words like he was speaking to a toddler. He waves his hand in a sweeping gesture. “None of this is supposed to be our problem. We came here because my mom needed a break from the town that stole her son and killed her boyfriend and took our chief of police, and because El found Stiles. Not because of some ‘supernatural homing device’.”

“Hang on,” Stiles says. “What about your chief of police? My _dad_ is the chief of police.”

“Jon,” Will says softly, ignoring Stiles and reaching for his brother. “Is it really so hard to believe?”

Stiles pauses at the wonder in the boy’s voice, as if he’s desperately trying to contain a whole lot of questions. And honestly, Stiles can't help but agree with the boy; if they live with a girl who can reach people in their dreams and move things with her mind, and have fought an army of other-worldly creatures, accepting werewolves and banshees and other supernatural creatures shouldn't be too hard. 

“… I guess not,” Jonathan says. “But it makes things a hell of a lot more complicated.”

“Let’s all back up a moment,” Lydia says. “I think one key aspect that continues to be danced around is the fact that Stiles has a memory block and came here with the intention to remove it.” She turns to Deaton, who in turn looks at El. “Are we to believe that you two can remove it?”

Deaton nods slowly, gaze still on El, who is looking back at him steadily. “Yes, I can help. Scott, can you help me get the tubs –“

Before he can even finish his sentence, El marches forwards, towards the door to the supply room. With a jerk of her head, it flies open, and she disappears inside. Moments later, one of the large metal basins comes shooting out, screeching loudly against the floor, followed closely by a second. Jonathan and Will look unfazed, but Scott and Allison’s jaws have literally dropped. Lydia looks intrigued, but if she’s shocked or impressed, she’s hiding it well.

“We’ll be needing these?” El asks, looking at Deaton, who nods wordlessly.

“Great,” Stiles says. The sight of the tubs has his anxiety acting up, nerves singing and hands starting to tremble. He can hear his pulse in his ears. “Love the ice bath. Great choice. Remind me – why is this necessary?”

“The bath helps me focus,” El says, though she is looking at the tubs with slight trepidation. Will puts a hand on her shoulder.

“The reduction of all bodily processes allows the mind to enter a subconscious state, where the chances of damaging something by removing the block are slimmer. Your memories are more fluid, more accessible.”

“Right, like when we stuck Isaac in one to remember stuff that the alphas stole from him,” Scott says, sounding excited. Will looks intrigued, Jonathan looks like all hope is lost in the world.

“Isaac?” He says. “He’s involved in this?”

“Oh yeah, he’s a werewolf,” Scott says dismissively. “Who _isn’t_ though, these days?”

At Jonathan’s blank look and Allison’s reprimanding smack to the shoulder, he holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Kidding. Well, not about Isaac being a werewolf.”

“Well,” Stiles says, turning to El as Deaton moves to begin to fill the tubs, recruiting Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jonathan to start dumping bags of ice into them, “You really think you can remove the block?”

El’s dark eyes are sincere when she nods. “I can do it without… this… but your Veterinarian is right. It’s safer this way.”

Stiles nods. “Cool, cool, cool, right, right, great. Great.” The buzzing beneath his skin feels alive now, and there’s a humming coming from the lights above them as they begin to burn slightly brighter.

A small hand on his forearm snaps him to the present. “I won’t hurt you,” El says. “You’re my brother. And… friend.”

Stiles nods mutely. He can’t believe that this is happening. That he’s going to climb into a tub of ice, go catatonic, and let some young girl mess around in his memories, potentially releasing some extreme, untapped power that Stiles has –unknowingly– always possessed. 

“I know what I’m doing,” El continues. Stiles almost believes her.

“That’s great,” he says. Because what else do you say to someone who’s about to perform psychological surgery on you?

“Do you trust me?” She says, and damn it, Stiles just does. Not. Know. How can he trust someone he’s known for mere hours?

But then, he thinks about it. About what she showed him, back at the Byers' house. The feelings that had coursed through him, the intensity of her emotions. Friendships. Love. Promises. The displays of raw power, nothing he’s yet seen with his own eyes, but has experienced second-hand through her own memories.

He looks down at his wrist. At the **003** , faded, permanent, unexplained. All the answers are in his own head and are with this girl. Eleven, El, **011**.

What the hell. “Yeah,” Stiles says, and feels that it’s the truth. “Yes, I trust you.”

El’s small smile is rewarding, and she doesn’t look away from him as Deaton approaches them, rubbing his hands. “We’re ready,” he says.

Stiles bobs his head once. Looks at El, at Scott and Allison, at the demodog on the table. Two worlds are colliding, and he is the epicenter. He steps forwards, towards one of the tubs, filled almost to the brim with icy water. “Let’s unlock some memories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wait ! i realized that i had created an issue where a lot of the characters were coming together and therefore needed introductions and explanations, so this was kind of a filler chapter.
> 
> but i love writing all their interactions:') 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! comments are very motivating so please feel free to drop one if you enjoyed:) stay safe and stay lovely!


	8. an interlude; will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a short chapter. also, my apologies for my complete lack of an update schedule

The way Will sees it, he’s always been a side character. Always present, moderately helpful, but always overshadowed by other, larger characters. Like back in Hawkins, with Mike and Dustin and Lucas, who all have such loud personalities that it was easier to fade into the background, sometimes. Like at home, with El and Jonathan and Mom.

If his life was like DnD, he wouldn’t be the wizard, casting spells and saving the day. He would be the random villager taken hostage by the fearsome creatures from the other dimension, the reason for the other characters to come together and become the heroes they were destined to be. He gets that now.

Even when he was taken into the Upside Down, hunted by the Demagorgon, used by the Mind Flayer as a spy against his friends and family, Will is pretty sure he was never the main character. And if he’s wrong, and that is what being a main character entails, then he’s happy to be a side character for the rest of his life.

Which, honestly, suits him. From what he’s seen, the main characters have to go up against the worst of the worst. Like, he thought _one_ demagorgon was bad? El’s fought off dozens of demodogs, escaped from a lab that treated her like an experiment, dealt with closing a meta-physical gate to _another dimension_ , not to mention the fight with the Mind Flayer and the fact that her only strong parental figure went missing after that.

And now, apparently, there’s werewolves? Which, _awesome._ But also, what the hell? He can’t wait to text the Party after this. Nobody will believe it.

Watching El and Stiles approach the tubs of ice, ready to submerge themselves, Will can’t exactly say he’s too jealous. If being the side character means he literally gets to watch things like this happen from the side, he’s not too bothered.

Deaton had given them all a quick rundown of what was going to happen. Apparently, El and Stiles both needed an ‘anchor’, someone to connect them to the physical world while also holding them down, making sure they don’t rise out of the water too early. Scott had volunteered almost immediately to be Stiles’ anchor, and Will and Jonathan both volunteered to be El’s. The two girls, Allison and Lydia, have gathered together and are standing at the tubs, gazing at the icy water.

Lydia clicks her tongue. “Well, glad that’s not me.” Will has to agree. When he’d first met El, he’d been star struck by her strength, her abilities, her secrets. Now, after knowing her and what she’s been through, what being a number from the lab entails, he’s also glad he’s not the one with a tattoo on his wrist, with a power he doesn’t know how to harness coursing through him.

Stiles huffs from where he’s standing, in front of the tub farthest from Will. He’s taken his shoes off, and Will watches as El notices and does the same, though normally she doesn’t have the faintest regard for that sort of thing. Jonathan has approached El, and Will follows.

“Well, this’ll be quick, right?” Stiles is rambling as he stares into the tub. “A little recon mission. In, bam, out. Break the seal, release the memories, whatever.” He looks over at El. “Right?”

El shrugs. Stiles looks distraught for a moment before covering his face with his hands. Will imagines that he’s silently screaming right now.

Then, Scott puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, and Will watches as Stiles visibly relaxes. Scott’s talking, too low for anyone else to hear, but whatever he’s saying, it seems to work.

“Ready,” El says, almost impatiently, before hoisting herself up and plunging both feet into the tub. The ice shifts and the legs of her jeans immediately darken, but the only indication of the cold she gives is a soft exhale, her grip tight as she balances on the lip of the tub.

“Jeez, no dramatic count down?” Stiles says, before taking a deep breath and stepping into the tub. “Mother _fucker_ ,” he exclaims once both feet are in. “Did not miss this.”

“You’ve done this before?” Jonathan asks incredulously. Stiles’ grim look is answer enough.

Will moves to touch El’s wrist. Since the Mind Flayer, and Hopper’s disappearance, and their moved to Beacon Hills, Will has started to see El less as the all-powerful being that Will and Dustin and Lucas had first raved about, and more as a sister. A girl who has spent the majority of her life without a family, who loves Gossip Girl and is pretty terrible at math but is a whiz in the kitchen. Who doesn’t understand the use of cell phones and therefore lets it die almost constantly. Who, at her first time at the beach, because they live in California now and can do things like _go to the beach whenever_ , which blows Will’s mind, she had stared at the waves with a look of absolute awe, but also something darker, like sadness. Who likes it when Joyce braids her hair in twin braids, who indulges Jonathan in his efforts to introduce her to Star Wars, who lays in bed with Will, talking about anything and everything, or just existing together, in silence.

El is so much more than her powers, than the lab, than the Upside Down. Will would never have known had they not moved here.

Now, El looks at him, her dark eyes warm. Trusting. Trusting Will and Jonathan to be her anchors, whatever that means.

“You know what you’re doing.” Will says. It could’ve been interpreted as a question, but Will meant it as a reassurance. Not that El needed it.

She nods, smiles all the same, before peering around Will to make eye contact with Stiles, who is breathing hard, white-knuckle grip on the rim of the tub.

“Ready, brother?” She asks. Stiles looks at her, breathes out slowly, nods. If he has any thoughts on her addressing him as ‘brother’, he keeps them to himself.

“Ready,” he says.

At Deaton’s instruction, Will puts his hand on El’s shoulder, Jonathan at the other. He notices Scott doing the same with Stiles.

“Countdown?” Stiles suggests, half laughing. Will thinks he looks a step away from hysterical.

“Three,” El says.

“Two,” Stiles says.

“One,” they say together. El’s shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath, and then, the two plunge under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love will. he's had like zero lines before this chapter and i have no excuse for it.
> 
> i promise the next chapter will contain an actual unblocking scene.
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading<3 and those who leave comments, you warm my heart and soul


	9. the unblocking; el

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay! i have zero update schedule and zero excuse for it...
> 
> please let me know if you notice any mistakes or have any questions upon reading this, as it is unbeta'd

When El opens her eyes, she is alone.

That is not unusual. The darkness stretches out infinitely, the water splashing against her calves a familiar sensation as she takes a few steps forwards, gazing around. She is intimately familiar with this darkness, with the echoes that seem to go on forever.

But she’s supposed to be here with someone. She scans the area for any sign of Three; Stiles, her brother, waiting for his form to appear in the smoky way that she’s become accustomed to.

After a moment, she opens her mouth. “Stiles?” She calls out. Her voice echoes around her, becoming louder, bigger than she is. The only answer is her own voice, thrown back at her.

Has something gone wrong? The veterinarian had said this was all relatively safe, a standard procedure, it seemed. And nothing El was not familiar with. Yet where was Stiles?

There. His form suddenly coalesces, on his hands and knees, gasping. Eyes wild as he looks around himself, takes in the darkness. Water splashes as he scrambles to his feet, still panting erratically. He seems prone to these sorts of panicked outbursts; she’s come to realize.

“El?” He gasps. She approaches him swiftly, and he looks over at the sound of her footsteps. His face relaxes minutely as he takes her in. “Oh, thank god.” He rubs a hand along the back of his neck, squinting at her. “So, where do we go from here?”

El doesn’t answer, looks around. Thinks back to Hawkins, to the Mind Flayer, to _Billy_. She had found him, but he had taken her inside his mind, like a revolving door, sweeping the control out from under her. She needs Stiles to do the same, to give the door a push, but to relinquish control to her.

“Give me your hand,” she instructs, and he obediently reaches out to her. “I need you to let me in,” she adds.

“Let you in?” Stiles repeats. “Like the Babadook? What are you, a vampire?” His hand hangs between them; El won’t take it, can’t take it until he understands. She doesn’t respond to his comments, doesn’t exactly understand them. “Let you in how? I thought this was your show, your specialty. Can’t you just take the reins and do what needs to be done?”

El shakes her head. “It’s your head,” she says, feeling frustrated. How can she explain this? “I can… ‘take the reins’ when I’m in. But you need to let me in, willingly. It’s like… opening a door.”

She sees Stiles work through that. She knows, only through light rummaging in his mind, that he’s been possessed before, like Will. Having a hostile entity in your mind tends to make one a bit skittish, which El has seen first-hand. She doesn’t yet know how Stiles will react to her prodding, but eventually, he nods, face growing serious.

“In this analogy, is the door a ‘push’ or ‘pull’? Or is it revolving? Or perhaps one of those automatic slide ones?” Stiles rambles. El gives him a look.

“Okay, okay. I think I know what you mean,” he says, though he sounds a little skeptical. El scans him for a moment. She doesn’t know much about this scrawny, slightly-anemic looking boy, but he stands tall before her, hand still reaching to close the space between them.

This won’t be like the Mind Flayer. This won’t be like Billy. She trusts Stiles, and she can tell that though he may not know why, he trusts her too.

She grabs his hand.

Almost immediately, El is yanked forward, her arm almost wrenching out of its socket. Her feet lose the ground beneath her, her stomach bottoms out, and the air around her feels magnetized, electric. This is no slow-motion fall into Stile’s mind, no ambling through a doorway, it is a head-first tumble into the unknown.

But it lasts merely seconds. El is on her knees, having lost her balance when Stiles let her in. But she’s not in the dark space anymore, there’s no water seeping into her pants. No; she stares in fascination at her hands, spreads her fingers out over the tiled floor she now lays on. The tiled floor that she is intimately familiar with; has curled up on, has tossed crumpled Coca Cola cans on, has dripped nosebleeds on, has thrown grown men on.

This is the Lab. This is home. Well, the first home that El has ever known.

“Stiles,” she says out loud to herself, more as a reminder as to why she is here than anything else. Because this is not real; it’s in Stile’s head. A memory, manifested just for her.

She looks up; she is alone. No Stiles, no doctors, no Papa.

Where is Stiles?

El pushes herself to her feet, gazing around through hooded eyes. Being back here is not something she’s excited about, but there must be a reason this is the first place she landed when Stiles let her in. It’s as if she blew past his consciousness, straight into the center of the block, which would explain why he’s not here right now.

But he _is_ here, just not his current self. She just has to find him.

El sets forwards, gazing around. There’s a noise, a low humming that seems to be coming from down the hall. She follows it, keeping her steps light even though she knows, intuitively, that this is all from Stiles’ memories. She’s not _actually_ back in the lab.

She comes upon a door. The humming is louder, emanating from it. Lightly, she reaches out, pushes it open.

Inside is a scene which El is intimately familiar with; bare except for a table, some lab equipment, and a child. Stiles must be around five years old, but El knows it’s him, knows those amber eyes and those prominent moles. He’s hooked up to several machines, all beeping and taking record of whatever is happening. He’s hunched over himself, hands splayed on the table, trembling minutely. A lone lightbulb lays on the table in front of him, reminiscent of the coke can from El’s practices.

She drags her gaze from the boy who she now knows as her brother to the man sitting across from him. El feels a thrill of fear run through her at the sight of his face, though it is quickly replaced with anger, with hatred. His face is unlined, and his hair is darker, but he still has that awful look in his eye, that fake lilt in his voice to make him sound caring, sympathetic.

Papa.

“Again,” the man says, and El closes her eyes at the harshness of his tone.

“I can’t,” Stiles breathes after a moment. Papa looks disappointed, and El finds herself flinching away as he rises abruptly.

“Don’t be foolish,” he says, before closing his eyes and taking a breath. He’s different, El realizes with a start. More… angry. Which is saying something.

Stiles looks up, trepidation clear in his eyes, and El wants to do something, to step forwards, but she can’t. This has already happened.

“You have shown such progress,” Papa says, voice softer than before as he forces a calm demeanor. “Such talent. You are incredible, Three. You may not see it yet, but you will.” He raps his knuckles on the table, causing the lightbulb to jump in place. Stiles flinches. “I know you’re ready to expand.” Papa looks up, past Stiles to what El knows now is a two-way mirror. “Give him thirty volts.”

Papa walks from the room as Stiles cries out, muscles tensing and locking as electricity courses through him, likely from one of the many machines Stiles is hooked up to. El can only watch in horror as his body jerks, eyes rolling back into his head.

But then – a gasp, forced out through gritted teeth. El watches as Stiles lifts his head, limbs still spasming uncontrollably, then lifts his arm, aims it at one of the machines. With a scream, energy bursts from his hand, lighting up the room in a shock of electric blue, torching the machine that was causing the volts.

Stiles slumps immediately afterwards, and El stares at him, wide-eyed. She’s had a guess of what her brother was capable of, suspected it had to do with electricity. To see him _channel_ it in that sense, at such a young age… she shudders to think what would have become of him had he not managed to leave the Lab.

Papa steps back in, smiling, and walks around to where Stiles is boneless in his chair. El watches as he gently, familiarly, pulls the numerous electrodes off of Stiles, lifts him into his arms. It’s too similar to her own experience, too reminiscent of memories that she’d hoped to forget.

Papa strides out of the room, Stiles held delicately in his arms. El hurries after them, but as she steps out of the room, the scene changes instantaneously. Her foot lands in spongy grass, cold air enveloping her as she steps fully out. The sky hangs heavy with stars above her.

Quickly, El looks around for any sign of Stiles. She’s outside the Lab, but still on its grounds; she can see the fence that surrounds the perimeter not too far off, the road leading to the only way in and out of the compound a few hundred meters to her left.

A voice causes her to turn. A nurse, a woman with chestnut brown hair and soft eyes is hurrying towards the fence, her lips pulled into a tight line. She has Stiles by the hand, pulling him along under the cover of the night. He’s no longer in his gown, and looks a little older, telling El this must be a year or so from the first memory.

Stiles stumbles, and the nurse quickly sweeps him up, cradling him to her as she glances back over her shoulder, like she’s expecting someone to be following them. El quickly realizes what this is; a jail break.

The woman has reached the fence, but seems to be looking for a certain area, running the best she can alongside it while holding Stiles to her. She’s whispering something, but it’s too quiet for El to pick up even as she hurries to follow.

The nurse finds what she was looking for; a gap in the fence, looking like it had been cut recently. She gasps, falls to her knees, arms releasing Stiles, who stumbles before righting himself, eyes wide.

“Go, child,” she says, voice hoarse. “I’m right behind you.”

But Stiles hesitates, and in that moment, bright floodlights turn on all around the compound. Voices, people yelling, engines firing up. Stiles’ absence must be noticed.

The woman gasps, curses, then turns back to Stiles, grabs him by the shoulders roughly. “John will take care of you,” she says, voice leaving no room for questions, even as Stiles opens his mouth. “He’s waiting by the road, just through these woods. You need to find him, he will get you out of here.”

“What about you?” Stiles finally cries. The nurse just shakes her head. “I can’t leave you!” The air starts to become charged around them, a low buzzing that El has now learned to associate with Stiles. His hands begin to tremble minutely.

“ _Hush!”_ The woman demands. The voices are getting closer; El watches from where she’s crouched next to Stiles as long shadows start moving in her periphery. The woman looks back too, before turning back to Stiles. Her eyes soften as she gazes at his face, which is screwed up with grief and terror.

“There is no life for me out there, not anymore,” the woman states. Stiles and El stare at her in confusion. She sighs, almost impatiently, before grabbing Stiles’ arm, hands going to his wrist, to the brand. “This – nobody can ever know,” she orders. “It is to be forgotten, everything about this place _must_ be forgotten.”

Stiles stares at her wordlessly. “How?” He manages to get out.

El watches in fascination as the woman exhales sharply before bringing her hand to Stiles’ head, pressing her thumb firmly against his forehead. Her other hand wraps around his wrist, around the tattoo. She closes her eyes, and El is struck by a strange, overwhelming sense of familiarity.

“You’re like me,” she whispers.

The woman obviously does not respond, but El is suddenly sure that this nurse is the reason for Stiles’ block, however that may be. She had put it in place, hid his tattoo from him, until El found him and shook things up.

The woman gasps as she falls from Stiles, who opens his eyes slowly, blinking in confusion. With what remains of her energy, she shoves Stiles through the gap in the fence. “Get to the edge of the woods,” she instructs. “Find John. _He will take care of you_.”

Stiles is still for a moment, taking a few steps into the trees before turning back, confusion clear on his face. “What –” he starts, but then the voices are on top of them; El knows they’ve been found, at least the nurse has.

“Go!” The nurse demands with the last of her breath. “Tell him that Claudia sent you.”

Then there is shouting, and gunfire and Stiles runs.

El spares a glance back at the nurse who risked her life for Stiles’ escape, a pang shooting through her. Why wasn’t there – where was – why did nobody do the same for _her_?

El shakes herself. Now is not the time. Instead, she pushes herself through the gap in the fence, ready to chase after Stiles.

Instead, the scenery folds around her once more, and El is now in a brightly lit… area. It’s massive, expansive, almost like the darkness she’s so accustomed to in her headspace. Directly in front of her is a large, white wall, expanding in both directions as far as she can see. She glances around, curious if this is another memory.

A few meters away sits a boy. Stiles. He looks the same age as he did when El witnessed his escape, but he’s different. He seems older, though he doesn’t look it.

El approaches him, footsteps echoing loudly in the empty space. “Stiles?” She asks.

The boy looks up. “It’s time, isn’t it,” he says.

El is taken aback. “For what?”

The boy gestures to the enormous, unblemished wall. “For this to come down.”

El nods slowly. “You deserve… to be whole.”

Stiles nods, young face serious.

There’s a moment where the two just look at each other. Then Stiles waves his hand in her face. “Well? I can’t do it myself.”

El smiles slightly. There was the Stiles she knew.

Then, she turns towards the wall. Bracing herself, she lifts her hand, focusing her energy on bringing it down, cracking it, dissolving it. Young Stiles stands a few paces behind her, but El pays no mind to him, narrowing her eyes at the bright wall before her.

There’s a rumble, more like a wave than anything, and a crack appears in the unmarked surface before her. El focuses in on it, honing her energy and attention on widening it. More fractures appear, slowly but surely becoming larger and larger, and the light begins to dim as the wall starts to become translucent.

“Is it working?” The Stiles behind her asks. El wants to roll her eyes, but instead brings her other hand up, heart racing like she’s just run a mile as she focuses on breaking this block.

There’s somebody on the other side, El notices, as the wall becomes more and more translucent, now looking more like a fractured window than a sturdy barrier. It’s Stiles, the Stiles that she knows, looking around in confusion. Their eyes meet through the barrier, and El watches as Stiles’ eyes widen as he takes her in, then get impossibly wider as he notices his younger self standing behind her.

Then, he closes his eyes, and brings his hands up, mimicking El’s stance as she forces herself to focus harder, to push against the fractures, make them bigger. There’s suddenly a shuddering boom and the wall _quakes_ as Stiles does… something to it from the other side. El isn’t really sure what he could be doing as she squints against the strain of her own power, but whatever it is, it must be helping, because the wall fractures even more, spider-webbing outwards.

With a final burst of effort, El lets out a scream as she reaches out with her abilities and _punches_ , just as Stiles shudders with electric energy, shooting it outwards. The wall, now completely translucent, trembles for a moment, before shattering.

El instinctively brings her hands up to shield herself from falling glass, but nothing of the sort happens. Rather, the shards of what once was the barrier turn to dust, billowing outwards before slowly fading.

Nothing remains.

Stiles, the older one, who had been on the other side of the wall, falls to his knees, head bowed. El spares a glance at the younger Stiles before striding towards him. The younger Stiles follows a step behind her.

“What… the hell…” Stiles is gasping from his position on the ground. El kneels besides him.

“It’s done,” she informs him. He nods, looks up at his younger self. A series of emotions flicker through both boys’ faces, too fast for El to identify a single one.

The younger Stiles holds his hand out, tattoo stark against his pale skin. Stiles stares at it. “How is… how did this happen?” He asks.

“She did it to protect us,” the younger Stiles says. Stiles just blinks slowly, before shaking his head.

“I feel… I don’t feel any different,” he notes.

“Take my hand,” the younger Stiles implores.

Stiles glances at El, who nods. As far as she can tell, once they touch, the two Stiles’ will become one, merging the Stiles before the block was put in with the Stiles after. At least, she hopes that’s what’ll happen.

Though Stiles looks more than a little dubious, he takes his younger self’s hand.

The two disappear in a flash of light.

El jumps to her feet. “Stiles?” She calls out, spinning in a circle. “Stiles?” she repeats, getting more desperate. She’s alone; there’s no sign of either version of her brother.

Trying not to panic, she falls to her knees and closes her eyes. Maybe he woke up, ended the procedure on his own. Now, she just needs to wake up too.

Desperately, she tries to cast her mind back to her body, but either she’s too panicked from Stiles’ sudden disappearance, or drained from destroying the barrier, but she stubbornly remains _right here_.

“Stiles!” She calls out one last time, desperate. There’s no response.

Then, distantly, she hears someone calling her name. Feels hands on her shoulders, though nobody is there. “El!” The voice says, sounding louder. Familiar. It sounds like… Will.

“Open your eyes!”

With a gasp, El does. And she’s back. Her clothes are sopping wet, but she’s no longer in the tub; she’s cradled in Jonathan’s arms, Will hanging over her, looking worried.

She scrambles to her feet, eyes darting around, taking in the room. The lights are flickering strangely, and there’s water all over the floor, the tub Stiles had been in turned, inexplicably, on its side. Stiles is slouched in his friend’s arms, the one with the weird jaw, while the two girls are standing back with Deaton, an odd expression on their faces.

“Did it… did it work?” El croaks, looking at Stiles.

The boy looks exhausted, eyes dark and dull. But he flashes her a thumbs up.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, his voice sounding strange. El turns to look at him, and he meets her gaze after tearing his eyes away from Stiles. Clearly, something must’ve happened before she’d woken up. “Yeah, I’d say it worked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it took me a bit to find the inspiration for this unblocking scene which is why this chapter took me so long and I'm not 100% sure if I even like how I wrote it but it's here and it's here to stay. I decided that Claudia, the nurse who rescued Stiles, has some slight psychic powers (perhaps due to exposure from experiments at the lab) but nothing on the level of El's abilities, just enough to create the block in Stiles' mind, but doing so completely drained her. So yes, the sheriff has a general idea of Stiles' origin, but has never addressed it with him, though now they'll have to... whew! 
> 
> thank you everyone as always for reading! I love reading your comments as well, so please feel free to leave one if you so desire!:)


	10. ten: jonathan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, not exactly proof-read. let me know if you see any mistakes.

Jonathan Byers has seen some pretty crazy things in his lifetime. Things like monsters from other dimensions, young girls with terrifying powers, creatures made from the dissolved flesh of people from his own town. He’s seen a being from a shadow dimension possess his brother, then watched as it flew out of his brother’s mouth, like thick, black smoke.

He’s seen his girlfriend shoot like she was born to do so, seen her ex-boyfriend wield a bat covered in nails with grace and ease.

He’s launched fireworks at a gigantic monster in the mall with nothing but a troop of middle schoolers to help. He’s seen his mom grieve for not one, but _two_ boyfriends lost to the fight with the Upside Down.

So, needless to say, Jonathan considers himself pretty well-rounded in the ‘has seen some shit’ category. Enough to the point where, when Stiles dropped words like _werewolves_ and _banshees_ in casual conversation, he was willing to accept it. Like Will had said, it’s not the most unbelievable thing out there, not when one considers the rest of what Jonathan knows to be true.

But even so, watching Stiles burst from the tub of ice in a dazzling shower of sparks, lit up like lightning itself was running through his veins, was certainly unexpected. While El had remained worryingly motionless in her own tub of now semi-melted ice, Stiles had violently exploded from his, succeeding in blowing out all the lights in the room and knocking his own tub to the floor. Jonathan figures it was only Scott’s weirdly fast – dare he say, supernatural? – reflexes that allowed him to catch the flailing living wire that Stiles had seemed to become and subdue him before he could torch all of them like he’d toasted his Jeep’s engine earlier that day.

Will, after watching Stiles with wide eyes and a slightly awed look on his face, turns to El and pulled her slightly out of the water, draping her head on his shoulder as he yells her name and shakes her gently. Jonathan quickly takes action as well, scooping the girl he now sees as his little sister into his arms, ignoring how doing so almost immediately soaks through all his clothes.

After a few more gentle shakes and calling her name, El jolts awake, taking in the scene immediately. “Did it work?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

Jonathan looks to Stiles, who is no longer simmering with energy. He flashes El a thumbs up. “Yeah,” Jonathan says, “yeah, I’d say it worked.”

Deaton steps forwards. If he’s pissed about the mess of his office, he doesn’t say anything. “So, none of you were aware that your friend possessed these abilities?” He says, slightly incredulously, addressing Scott, Allison and Lydia.

“I always knew he was a sparky one,” Lydia simpers, though she looks a bit shaken.

El is still breathing heavily in Jonathan’s arms. He peers down at her. “Are you okay?” She looks pale, eyes reddened with burst blood vessels. He’s honestly surprised that her nose isn’t bleeding.

“Fine,” she says, though she looks troubled.

Stiles is no better off. Jonathan watches as the other boy straightens, Scott releasing him reluctantly. “You alright, bro?” Scott asks softly.

Stiles stares at his hands. At his tattoo. “I grew up in a lab,” he says hollowly. “No, I don’t think I’m totally alright.”

El waves her hand from where she’s still slumped in Jonathan’s arms. “You’ll get used to it,” she says. Stiles gapes at her.

“Was that… a joke?” He asks, dumbfounded. El smiles slightly.

“Hawkins lab, yeah,” Jonathan cuts in. “We’re familiar with it. How did you get out?” El’s escape had to do with the release of the Demagorgon from the Upside Down. He’s hoping that Stiles’ escape was a little less… destructive.

“A nurse,” Stiles says. “She got me out. Her name was –”

“Claudia,” El interrupts. “She was… like me. Barely. She’s the one who put the block on your mind.”

A series of emotions flicker across Stiles’ face. “Like you…?” Allison speaks up finally. “How?”

El shrugs. “The lab did experiments on pregnant mothers,” Jonathan supplies, something he learned from his time as detective with Nancy and Murray. “Maybe she got some experimental drug, or was exposed, somehow.” It doesn’t really matter, really. Jonathan’s sure that this woman, whoever she was to Stiles, is now dead.

Scott whirls to Stiles. “Dude! Does your dad –”

Stiles nods and swallows. “He knows. He was the one who picked me up from… there.”

Everyone’s silent for a moment. “You guys are more alike than we previously thought,” Will jokes. “Both escaped from the lab, adopted by sheriffs!”

Nobody laughs, though Stiles makes a pained expression that may have been an attempt at an amused face.

“Alright,” Lydia says. “So Stiles has powers now. And so does this… young girl,” she motions towards El, who narrows her eyes slightly. “Do we know about anyone else? You guys are three and eleven, right? What about one and two, and all the numbers between that?”

“Kali,” El says by way of explanation. “Eight.”

Lydia looks at Jonathan, unimpressed. He shrugs. “We’ve never encountered another. El has this way of… locating people. She found Stiles that way, and another girl from the lab. There’s a possibility she could find others.” He looks to El for confirmation. She nods her assent.

“Okay,” Allison says. “As much as I would love to be a part of a lab family reunion, I think we still need to focus on another pressing matter at hand.” She gestures towards the demodog, which is still lying on the examination table, Scott’s jacket thrown haphazardly over it.

“I’ll run some tests,” Deaton suggests. Jonathan shakes his head.

“Don’t bother,” he says. “We know exactly what this is and where it came from.”

“Right,” Lydia says. “The Upside Down.” Will nods enthusiastically.

“Yes,” Jonathan says. “Back at home, these things crawled out of a portal between our two dimensions, a gate, if you will.”

“What created this gate?” Deaton asks.

El swallows, lips drawn tight. “I did.”

“By accident!” Will interjects. “And I spent a long time in there. I got kidnapped by the Demagorgon.”

At everyone’s blank faces, Jonathan says, “Think demodog, but twice as big, and walks on two legs.”

“Great,” Stiles remarks.

“Anyways, if they’re here, that means there must be a gate nearby. They can form anywhere –”

“Like your house,” Will adds.

“Or a tree,” Jonathan says, thinking of that horrifying moment when Nancy went balls-to-the-walls and _crawled through one_.

“Or a massive cavern underneath the lab,” El tacks on.

Allison turns to Scott. “Do you think you could… you know…” she says softly.

“Smell it?” Scott asks. “Maybe. I’ll talk to Derek; we can check the woods tonight.”

“Is Derek also a werewolf?” Jonathan asks, feeling resigned.

“Yep,” Lydia answers.

“You might know him, he likes to lurk around the school,” Stiles says. “Dark hair, moody face, leather jacket?”

Jonathan’s horrified to find that that does ring a bell.

Scott nods, casual. Adds: “Yeah, he’s the one who bit me.”

Jonathan forces his face into a more neutral expression.

“Do you have a scar?” Will asks, way too interested. Scott opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by Jonathan’s phone blaring to life.

He glances at it quickly before cursing. “It’s mom,” he says to Will and El. “What do I say?”

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re the adult here, you figure it out!”

“Shit,” Jonathan says, before picking up. “Hi, mom.”

“Jonathan? Where the hell are you? Are El and Will with you?” Joyce’s voice is level, but Jonathan can hear the undercurrent of worry below it. He curses, mentally checking the time. She probably just got off of work and would’ve been expecting the three of them to be at home before she got there.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I got them right here,” Jonathan says. “They say hi.” Will and El look at him questioningly, and he shakes his head.

“Great. Where are you? Is there a game tonight? Did I mix up the dates?” She sounds so worried. Jonathan is a bit embarrassed to admit that, due to his role as school photographer, he goes to all the sports games to take photos. Joyce has made a habit of coming with him, cheering on Beacon Hills as if her son is actually participating on the field, rather than snapping photos from the sidelines.

“No, nothing tonight,” Jonathan says. “Um, we’re actually… at the vets?” No better lie than a bit of the truth, right?

Joyce is silent for a moment. “Why?”

Shit. Jonathan fumbles for an excuse. “Um… Will wants a job?”

“What?” Joyce says. “Really? The _vet_?”

Everyone is staring at him. Jonathan knows that he needs to get off the phone, pronto. “Listen mom, we’ll be home really soon, I promise. Will’s just gotta… fill out this application and then we’ll be back.”

“Jonathan, I’m not an idiot,” Joyce says.

“Never said you were! Bye mom, see you soon!” He hangs up quickly, then looks up. “Listen, we’ve got to go. I don’t want my mom involved in any of this stuff.” He looks pointedly at the demodog.

“Nobody said anything about involving parents, man,” Stiles says sourly. “Though I’ve got a few questions for my dad.”

Deaton nods. “It is late,” he says. “I’ll hold on to this,” he gestures to the demodog before turning to Scott and Allison. “If you happen to run over any more of these, I’d suggest you bring them here as well. If these truly do come from an… alternate dimension, it’s probably best that they remain undiscovered.”

Scott nods seriously, then turns to Jonathan. “We’ll scout the woods tonight. How will we know if we find a gate?”

El beats him to the answer. “It will be alive,” she says. “Like flesh. In a place it does not belong.” She wrinkles her nose. “It has… a heartbeat.”

Everyone looks mildly sickened by the thought.

“Well, this has been truly enlightening,” Lydia says, before turning to Stiles. “And who knew we have our own Kira 2.0 here?”

“Kira?” Jonathan asks faintly. Surely not Kira Yukimora from his American Lit class.

“ _Kitsune_ ,” Scott answers.

“A fox spirit,” Deaton elaborates. “Another classmate with a penchant for electrical currents.”

“Is there anyone in this town who isn’t supernatural in some way?” Jonathan demands, only half-joking.

Scott and Stiles look at each other and say in unison, “Greenburg.” They crack up.

“What do we do if we find a gate?” Allison asks, ignoring the boys.

Jonathan, El and Will glance at each other. “Let us know immediately,” Jonathan says. “But otherwise, leave it alone.”

“What can _you_ do about it?” Lydia asks, managing to only sound slightly skeptical.

El finally rises from where she’s been leaning against Jonathan. She’s more or less dried off, but still looks haggard. “I can close it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some joyce!! and yes this is a filler chapter. i just love making them interact... 
> 
> I am incapable of making these kids deal with more than one issue at a time... it's either stiles or the demodog for some reason it can't be both.
> 
> thank you for reading!!


	11. eleven: derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the fact that this is mad short

“I’ve always found that your decorating skills leave much to be desired, but this is… truly something else.”

Derek doesn’t even turn to acknowledge his uncle as the older man descends, the old wooden steps groaning with each step Peter takes. He senses Peter approach, stopping a few paces behind Derek.

Derek cocks his head, shifting his weight slightly as he regards the thing in front of him, the thing that has taken over the far wall of the basement of his childhood home. The scorch marks, reminders of the terrible history here, have been consumed by this pulsing, fleshy… thing.

“Where’d you get it?” Peter continues, voice annoyingly chipper. “IKEA?”

“Shut up,” Derek says evenly.

The thing on the wall groans, vine-like tendrils slithering languidly outwards before drawing back in on itself, as if… feeling for something. The thing smells musty, and there’s a haze in the air, like ash, floating gently outwards from it. It’s organic, whatever it is. _That_ Derek is sure of. And the worst thing, the thing that alerted Derek to its presence in the first place – the heartbeat.

A low, steady thrumming, emitting from the center of it. From _inside_ it, though from what Derek can tell, it hasn’t expanded any further than the wall. He’d heard it right away, ears picking up the sound of a heartbeat coming from his old home… and sue him, he’d been curious. Desperate, maybe. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone from the Hale family had been resurrected.

Though with Derek’s luck, only he and his bitch-ass uncle remained the surviving members of the Hale family.

True to form, Peter can’t seem to keep his mouth shut for more than a minute at a time. “So, what are you going to do about it? Stare it into oblivion? Have you called Scott?”

“ _No_ ,” Derek says, perhaps a bit too forcefully. “Not yet,” he amends through clenched teeth.

Peter sighs loudly, dramatically. His boots scuff the floor as he steps forwards leisurely. “Do you even know what this is?” He asks, hand outstretched as claws begin to extend from his fingertips.

“I wouldn’t –” Derek starts to say, but Peter’s already slashed at the thing, going right for the center, which looks like thick cobwebs pulled together.

Peter doesn’t stop there; he keeps going, slashing at the thing with reckless abandon. Derek just rocks on his heels, hands deep in his pocket as he waits for Peter to tire out. After a long moment, Peter steps back, slightly out of breath, and the two Hales watch as the things slowly, simply, knits itself back together.

“What the…” Peter says, wiping his hands off with a look of disgust before turning to Derek. “Yeah, you need to call Scott.”

Derek nods contemplatively.

“Do you think this has anything to do with the Argents?” Peter asks.

“I don’t see how it could,” Derek points out. “We don’t even know what it is.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s some biological weapon, designed to take us out.” Peter swipes a hand through the air, disturbing the ash-like substance floating gently. “What the hell is this stuff? Slow acting poison?”

Derek closes his eyes and wishes not for the first time that he’d wake up one day and find that Peter had fatally fallen down a well or drowned in his cereal. It’s very possible that they shouldn’t be standing here, breathing in the stuff, but Derek can’t really find it in himself to be concerned.

Peter sighs, loud and dramatic. “You can stare at this thing all you want,” he says. “I’m going to call Scott.”

Derek can imagine how that’ll go down. Scott hates Peter more than even Derek does. “Good luck,” he says. He can practically hear Peter’s eye-roll in response.

The organic mass makes a yawning sound, like an ancient tree creaking in the wind. Derek hears Peter stop, one foot on the stairs, and turn back.

“Do you hear that?” he says, staring past Derek, to the thing.

“The wall? Yeah, I hear it,” Derek says, turning to follow Peter.

“No,” Peter says, stepping back down, gaze still trained on the cobweb-like mass consuming the wall. “It’s… saying something.”

Derek turns back to the wall as well. He doesn’t hear anything apart from the usual, albeit disturbing, groaning and pulsing that it had been doing sense Derek found it here. But as Peter moves closer to the wall once again, he forces himself to listen closer, listen _past_ the yawning and slithering.

It’s… there. A voice, the words distorted, but more importantly, a heartbeat. A _real one_. Derek’s eyes fly open in surprise as he moves to stand near his uncle. “There’s someone in there,” he says.

Peter wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

Still, the two fall into a defensive position as the heartbeat on the other side draws closer. Derek can feel himself start to shift, seeing Peter do the same out of the corner of his eye. There’s no telling what might come from inside this flesh-like membrane, but Derek’s not one to take chances.

The sound is getting closer, louder. Derek can hear harsh, panicked breathing, clumsy, stumbling footsteps. A cough that sounds bone-deep. The voice, distinctly male, is calling out something. Derek still can’t make out the words, but it’s definitely closer than before.

Then; the cobwebs that had restrung themselves after Peter’s display are disturbed again, this time being pushed from the _inside._ Derek’s eyes widen as a hand, clearly human, claws outwards, grasping, as if looking for someone or something to pull it out. Derek and Peter glance at each other. Peter shrugs.

The hand is followed by a second, ripping and tearing and pushing at the membrane, vines falling and stretching and reaching back for each other and for the person pushing _out_ , trying to knit themselves back up, trying to reclaim the person.

With a roar, a body falls from the hole, collapsing on the ground just in front of the wall. It’s a kid, that much is evident, probably around Scott’s age. He’s dressed in jeans and a white tank top and is covered head to toe in a tacky black substance, which Derek quickly realizes is dried blood. His hair is long and curly and plastered to his face and neck with sweat and blood and some other substance that Derek suspects comes with forcibly birthing oneself from a membrane such as this one.

The man pushes himself up onto hands and knees, scrabbling away from the vines that are slowly re-wrapping themselves around his ankles. Peter growls and steps forwards menacingly, and Derek is reminded of his uncle’s tendency to “bite first, ask questions later”. He moves to grab Peter’s arm, and that’s when the boy looks up.

His shocking blue eyes are bloodshot and his face is gaunt, cheeks hollow and bruised under-eyes seemingly permanent. Fresh blood trickles down from a gash on his forehead, tracing a line down his jaw, and his stubble is a few shades past ‘five-o’clock shadow’. He’s visibly trembling, looking for the world like he hasn’t had a good meal in weeks. Or any meal, for that matter.

Still, the boy has the audacity to look Peter and Derek up and down, and say, with a sneer that seems at-home on his face, say, “who the fuck are you?”, before promptly passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L M A O why is this suddenly a billy resurrection fic… someone please stop me I can’t keep writing myself into these holes when I haven’t even written myself out of others yet. Before I write any more of this, I am going to map out the rest of it. I promise. And then maybe updates will become more regular…. One can pray.
> 
> not SUPER pleased with this but I just wanted to get it out there! thank you always to everyone who reads and enjoys this niche lil crossover where nothing has even really happened yet... we'll get there!! 
> 
> much love and appreciation to you all<3


	12. twelve: lydia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy 🤠
> 
> as usual, unbetad so please excuse any mistakes

“I think I’m going into shock.”

Lydia glances over at Stiles, lips pursed. He’s is staring straight ahead, eyes wide and unblinking as he watches the road more intently than Lydia is, even though she’s the one driving. He’s paler than usual, and his face looks gaunt, eyes sunken. His hands are resting on his thighs, curled into fists, and Lydia watches as the occasional tremor runs through them.

Turning back to the road, Lydia hums. “You do kind of look like it,” she assents.

Stiles turns towards her, gaping. “Not helping!” He tells her.

Lydia shrugs. “Just saying.” Stiles turns back to staring out the windshield, looking lost, but he doesn’t say anything again. Good. Because Lydia just _really_ needs a moment to think over everything that just happened.

She just needs to think this all out. Because once she does, has all the pieces in front of her, she’s sure things will start making sense.

It’s purely logical, really. Like a game. Start with the players. First and foremost, the newcomers; Jonathan, Will and El. From what Lydia has seen, Jonathan and Will are purely human. Although they’d all thought Stiles was simply human, too, and look where that got them. So, scratch that; Jonathan and Will may be harboring unknown, unseen abilities. Got it.

Next up, El. When Lydia had first laid eyes on the girl in Deaton’s office, her banshee senses definitely raised a bit of an alarm, registering the young girl as something unfamiliar. She knows the girl has some penchant for telekinesis, as displayed by her show in dragging the tubs out of the closet, as well as telepathy, if she was able to join Stiles in his mind to break down the barrier. And she also has some sort of locator ability, if she was able to find Stiles before even coming to Beacon Hills…

And now it’s been revealed that Stiles’ whole life has been a lie; he was raised in a lab and somehow possesses abilities that allow him to control electricity, from what she's observed. Lydia glances back over to him, feeling a little badly for brushing him off just now. She wants to help him unpack all of this new information, she really does, but she also kind of needs him to snap out of it and get back to manic-planner Stiles mode. She needs someone who can keep up with her thoughts, and as much as she loves Alison and Scott, neither of them can really keep up with her like Stiles can.

Because there’s the whole other issue of creatures from another dimension to consider. If there really are these ‘gates’ popping up all over Beacon Hills, and these creatures are passing through them… that needs to be addressed.

Lydia considers this all in the span of few minutes, before compartmentalizing it and again turning to the boy sitting next to her. He’s shifted his gaze to his hands. Lydia glances at them, curled into loose fists on his knees, before turning back to the road.

“Maybe we can talk to Kira tomorrow,” she offers. “Get some tips on control.”

Stiles nods distractedly. Lydia thinks over her own suggestion, because it’s clear Stiles isn’t. It’s clear Stiles and Kira are not the same, at least with the origin of their abilities, but the basics seem to be similar enough. Surely the girl will be able to offer some sort of advice.

“You ready to talk to your dad?” She asks next, taking a stab at assuming that’s what Stiles is thinking about.

She must be correct, because Stiles groans and buries his face in his hands. “What am I even going to _say_?” He exclaims, voice muffled. 

“Hm. How about, ‘hey dad, let’s talk about the time you rescued me from a lab in Indiana’.” Simple, succinct, cuts right to the chase.

Stiles is staring at her in horror. “That’s _not helpful_ , Lyd,” he says.

Lydia shrugs, hands coming up in defense. “I don’t know! I don’t see why you need to be vague about it. The conversation will be much easier if you just state it outright, in my opinion.”

Stiles is shaking his head as Lydia turns onto his road. “Man oh man oh man,” he’s muttering to himself.

Lydia pulls over in front of his house but doesn’t make him get out. Instead, she turns to face Stiles fully.

“Stiles, he’s your father, and it’s clear that he loves you,” she says, trying a different approach. “And it seems that he already knows this about you, so it probably won’t come as a shock to him.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Stiles explodes suddenly, and Lydia jerks back as sparks of electricity dance across his hands. Stiles stares at them for a moment before deflating, shoving his hands under his thighs. “Sorry,” he mutters. “But what I’m trying to figure out here is why he lied to me.” His voice breaks, and Lydia’s heart twinges in sympathy. While she might not have a strong relationship with her parents, she knows that Stiles is very close to his father. Learning that his life is a lie, that the sheriff isn’t even his real father… that definitely must be a tough pill to swallow.

Lydia reaches out and rests her hand on Stiles’ arm, wary of the sparks she’d just seen but not wary enough to keep her distance. He turns to look at her, eyes dull. “Listen,” she starts. “Maybe he had a reason, maybe not. But you won’t know until you talk to him.” She glances past Stiles, to his house. There’s a light on in the front room, and the sheriff’s car is in the driveway. “Do you want me to come in with you? Or wait here while you go?”

Stiles takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. After a moment, he shakes his head. “Nah, don’t worry,” he says. “I have to do this alone, I think.”

Lydia nods in understanding. “I’ll pick you up in the morning,” she says. “We’ll figure out what we’re going to do about… this situation.” Luckily, tomorrow is Saturday, which gives them the weekend to do some more investigating. Man, living in Beacon Hills sure is tiring. At least there’s something new pretty much every week to occupy their time and force them to put school on the backburner.

Stiles nods, then pushes the car door open. “Try not to electrocute anyone,” Lydia calls after him, only half joking. Stiles flips her off before slamming the door closed and heading up his lawn.

Lydia watches him until he disappears into the house. Then, she shifts into drive, a new destination in mind.

She has some Midwesterners to go talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the long absence. i hope you all had a great holiday/new year. you may be pleased to know I've been working on this story in the meantime.... but updates will still likely be sporadic. but this fic is still going strong !
> 
> thank you to all who have been supporting through kudos and comments<3 I cherish and appreciate you all:')


	13. the banshee: will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy...

Will stares at his phone. This is not good. Not good at all. Jonathan is going to _freak out._

It’s open to a text from Dustin, which reads: _Dude!! We’re headed 2 beacon hills! Reinforcements r on the way!_

Will’s not sure how to respond. He’s not sure how to tell his friends back in Indiana about _any_ of this. Actually, he’s not even sure how the hell Dustin knows that something’s up. And don’t they have other responsibilities? Like _school_?

Heaving another sigh, Will tosses his phone to the end of his bed and rolls over to face the door. He just about jumps out of his skin when his eyes land on El, who’s standing in the doorway, silent as a shadow.

“El!” He yelps, sitting up. “You scared me.”

El's dark eyes flash as she wanders further into his room. Their new place in Beacon Hills is nice; his room here is a little smaller than it was back in Hawkins, but it has big windows that let lots of light in, and the house itself doesn’t have the eerie vibe of ‘ _we’ve battled creatures from another dimension here’_ that their old one did.

El sits down on the bed next to him, leaning her weight casually on one hand as she regards Will with serious eyes.

Will pushes himself up to mirror her position. “What’s up?” He asks. He knows El well enough by this point to understand her moods, her silences, her subtle expressions. He can only imagine how she’s feeling right now. Probably exhausted from helping remove the barrier in Stiles’ mind and overwhelmed from all the new information they’d gathered today. Hell, just meeting another kid from the lab must be agitating.

So, of all the things he’s expecting her to say, it’s certainly not, “want to watch Gossip Girl with me?”

Will blinks in surprise, then shrugs. Back in Hawkins, Max had introduced El to a multitude of shows that she’d deemed as ‘classics’, and El had inexplicably gotten hooked on many of them. Gossip Girl is her current favorite, so Jonathan, Will and Joyce will watch it with her from time to time. Honestly, Will’s kind of invested.

Which is how they find themselves shoulder-to-shoulder on Will’s bed, Will’s school-sanctioned laptop sandwiched between them as they watch the latest antics of Selena and Blair and the works. Will kind of gets the sense that there’s something more El wants to say, but he doesn’t push her.

About halfway through the episode, he’s rewarded for his patience as El sighs and shifts slightly. “Will…” she says softly. “I was... searching. For Hop.”

Will pauses the show and turns to look at El. He doesn’t say anything, but kind of hopes she doesn’t mean she was searching for him _just now_ – she’s probably exhausted after the endeavor at the vet’s.

She seems to be waiting for an answer, so he just says, “Okay...”

When she doesn’t continue, he sits up a little bit. “Did you find him?!”

El shakes her head, arms crossed. She’s wearing an old flannel that Will can guess was Hopper’s, and she’s staring intently at one of Will’s _Star Wars_ poster on the wall across from them.

“Not Hop,” she says. “Not yet.”

Normally, Will wouldn’t think anything of it, but he’s also gotten pretty good at deciphering El’s kind of cryptic way of speaking. The way she said ‘not Hop’ almost implies…

“Did you find someone else?” He asks, a touch frantically. “Like, another kid from the lab?”

El shakes her head again, her brow furrowed. She’s about to answer when Will’s door bangs open and Jonathan bursts through.

“Guys, Lydia’s here,” he says. “She wants to talk.”

El and Will exchange glances. Will wants to press El, ask who she’s talking about, but she’s already swinging herself off the bed and padding out the door. Sighing, Will pauses the episode they’d been on and follows.

Lydia’s seated primly on the couch when they come down, with Joyce hovering in the doorway, fingers pressed to her lips in a mannerism that Will recognizes as something she does when she’s at a loss.

Honestly, Will feels a little badly about Jonathan’s determination to keep their mom in the dark. He gets it, sure; there’s no need to cause any unnecessary stress, but he also knows his mom knows somethings up. Dinner had been a _supremely_ awkward affair, with mom asking him all these questions about what inspired him to want to work in a vet’s office.

“Did I miss something?” She had asked over a plate of lasagna. “I love that you’re interested in getting a job, sure, and have a passion for animals, but what about something, I don’t know, a bit easier? Like, start with dog-walking.”

Will had shot Jonathan death glares the whole time while El picked tiredly at her meal.

And now, there’s a girl in their house. A very _pretty_ girl, because while Will may not be attracted to them, he can objectively determine when someone’s pretty or not. And this is the first time someone from Beacon Hills has come over while Joyce has been home.

“Mom,” Jonathan says. “Can you give us a moment?”

The look Joyce gives Jonathan sends chills down Will’s spine. “Sure,” she says. “But we will be _talking after this_.”

That was a promise.

“I like your mom,” Lydia says as Joyce reluctantly leaves for the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Jonathan asks, cutting straight to the chase as El moves to sit on the opposite end of the couch.

Lydia sits up, leaning her elbows on her knees. “I just wanted some more answers,” she says cryptically. “Specifically, about these _gates_ that you’ve mentioned.”

“Keep your voice down,” Jonathan whisper-yells, glancing furtively behind him, as if their mom is going to be lurking in the hallway. Which, Will wouldn’t actually put past her.

“What do you need to know?” El asks.

Lydia sighs. “I don’t know. I just…” she looks upwards, as if the words she’s looking for are on the ceiling. Will follows her gaze. “I want to know more about what they’re _like_. How they feel. What sort of… energy they give off.”

Will stares at her. Jonathan seems just as stumped. Lydia groans, blowing out a breath as she does. “Okay, so basically I think I might be able to find them if I know a bit more about them,” she says, sounding annoyed that she even has to explain. “I’m a banshee.”

Will blinks. “Isn’t that like… a screaming dead woman?” He’s pretty sure he’s right about that.

Lydia shoots him an unimpressed look. “Do I look like a screaming dead woman?”

“Do you want us to seriously answer that?” Jonathan asks nervously. Lydia rolls her eyes.

“Ugh, no! I know you guys are new here, but this isn’t the first crisis we’ve dealt with. And I’m just trying to help in the way I know I can.” She closes her eyes, takes a centering breath. “If I can find these gates, then El can close them, and that issue’s solved.”

It would be nice if it was that simple, but Will’s still a bit worried about how the gates even opened in the first place. He knows it’s irrational, but he can’t help but worry that the Upside Down still has its claws in him, that it’s following him. It will never let him go.

Panic is starting to surface, his breaths getting shorter as he sinks further and further into memories from the Upside Down. The toxic ash, the terror, the cold…

A sharp cough pulls him back to the present. El’s looking at him from across the room. He nods at her, a bit shaky, and she nods back.

“Here,” she says, turning to Lydia. “Let me show you.”

Then, reminiscent of what she did with Stiles earlier, El puts her fingers to Lydia’s forehead. Lydia inhales sharply, and Will wonders what El’s showing her, exactly.

After a long moment, El removes her fingers, and Lydia sags forwards for a moment, before straightening again. “Thanks,” she says, and Will can tell she’s trying to hide her true reaction to what El must’ve shown her.

El nods. “You can… find them?” She asks hesitantly. “With your banshee powers?”

“It’s worth a try,” Lydia responds, then stands. “I’m going to head home.” She glances at all of them, eyes landing finally on Jonathan. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow. Scott still has a few leads to follow up on, but we’ll be in contact.”

She sounds so calm, so sure, that Will is suddenly reminded of Nancy. He glances quickly at Jonathan, wondering if his brother is thinking the same thing. With a pang, Will wishes that Nancy and Steve and everyone were _here_. It’s not the same, dealing with the Upside Down without the Party.

Although, according to Dustin’s text, apparently, they are on their way. Which seems extremely reckless. Will should probably tell Jonathan and El. And maybe his mom, because he’s assuming they’ll want to stay here.

Lydia sees herself out, and almost immediately, Joyce appears. “Who was _that_?” She asks, a small smile playing on her lips as she looks at Jonathan.

Jonathan groans. “Just a classmate, mom.”

“She’s kind of cute.”

“Mom, you know I’m still dating Nancy.”

Joyce nods, smiling, and Will finds himself wondering if maybe Jonathan _told_ Nancy about all of this. If he wanted ‘reinforcements’, as Dustin had proclaimed them to be.

“Well,” Joyce says, arms crossed in front of her as her expression grows more serious. “I’m fine and dandy with you having classmates over, Jonathan. But I have to ask – what the hell is a banshee?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i said i'd plan more of this out but honestly it just comes in waves. like i have an extremely vague idea of where this is going and nothing more. but hey its fun to write🤪
> 
> as always, thank you for reading<3

**Author's Note:**

> dare I say... this may become a chaptered fic??
> 
> please let me know what you think, or to drop a kudo if you've made it here!:)


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